Let the Sparks Fly
by HigherMagic
Summary: Dean is a wizard who specializes in searching magic. Normally his cases in league with Officer Henricksen involve missing persons cases or stolen credit cards, but when Dean gets word of an underground familiar ring bust ending in a dragon on the loose, he can't help but pitch in to find the wayward beast.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: ** Let the Sparks Fly  
**Author:** HigherMagic  
**Artist: **dahliasheng  
**Pairing(s): **Dean/Cas  
**Rating:** PG13  
**Word Count: **~23k  
**Warnings:** kidnapping references, violence, graphic bodily harm  
**Summary:** Dean is a wizard who specializes in searching magic. Normally his cases in league with Officer Henricksen involve missing persons cases or stolen credit cards, but when Dean gets word of an underground familiar ring bust ending in a dragon on the loose, he can't help but pitch in to find the wayward beast. Contains dragon!familiar!Castiel and half-dragon!familiar!Sam.  
**Notes: **Written for the reversebang over on LiveJournal. Dahlia, of course, made the wonderful art that inspired this and I'm so lucky to have had such a talented artist for my first RBB. This whole thing was super fun to write, and I hope you guys have half as much fun reading it.

Please go to 1602 to see the art post!

* * *

Dean frowned down at his desk, rubbing weary hands over his eyes. Every part of him was cramped and stiff – he didn't even know thumbs _could _cramp – and he would be glad when this all was over. On his desk, a broad map of the four-hundred acre woods was spread out. Bright red pins marked the entrance and exit points into the hiking trails and public areas, and there were thin golden lines traced into the map to show back routes and routes only known to park rangers and the specially nature-savvy.

"Sammy," he called out, his nails running over his scalp as he heaved a breath. He waited until the looming shadow of his brother blocked the trace amounts of sunlight slanting across the forest map, before he raised his head and held out a hand. "I need a boost."

Sam's touch was always fire-hot, his skin warmed by the fiery stone set into his chest. Immediately Dean felt his exhaustion and anxiety melt away, replaced with the kind of frantic energy only fire could inspire inside of him – fear mixed with adrenaline mixed with anticipation.

Dean had always hated fire, since he was a child. But Sammy was an exception.

He held out his other hand over the map, his eyes closing as he focused.

Most of the kidnapping victims were kept alive for twenty-four hours before being found on one of the entrance or exit routes for tourists. With four hundred acres to cover it was simply too large an area for the rangers and police to find the latest victim, and they were fast running out of time.

Technically, Dean wasn't meant to be helping, but if the police received an anonymous tip and his believer, Henricksen, happened to find the missing person then that was okay. Dean would settle for a cut of the reward money by the family or another five hundred in his bank account from the police department as an 'outside source'.

Dean didn't charge much, especially for cases like this.

He ran his hand along one of the golden routes by sheer memory, breathing deeply, his other hand holding Sam's tightly. "Sammy, more," he ordered softly, breathing in deeply when more of Sam's fire surged into him, filling his nostrils with the scent of burning wood and coating the back of his throat as though he was breathing in smoke.

His hand stuttered across one of the ridges. He knew this area – there were cabins here. He could see them, clear as day, flashing in pieces across his mind.

Abruptly reality fell away from Dean as he stepped into the aether, drawn by the urgent, frantic tug he felt on his consciousness. As soon as he did he heard a scream. The voice was too distorted for him to sense a gender, as most things were in the aether. Dean himself chose a human shape in the aether, but very few others did.

He was in a forest, the trees arcing up high and proud over his head, brilliantly green despite the fact that it was winter and all of their leaves should have been gone or red. The souls of trees didn't believe in the fact that they died every year.

He fought the urge to call out – the aether was a dangerous place for a wizard, especially one with his kind of gift, and he would need to tread carefully.

_"Help! Help me, please!"_

His head turned, his ear catching the call again. His only weapon in the aether were his hands and he could hear other things, other predators drawn to the frantic cry of their prey animal. He would have to get to them first. The aether melted around him, clawing at his clothes and his skin as he moved, pulling, tugging, pinching in three parts exploration and one part desire to rip and maim.

_"Help me!"_

When Dean blinked, he was suddenly in a cage. He was not alone in the cage, but surrounded by a roiling mass of what he could only name as pure evil. He did not believe in God, but if he had to press for a name to call the thing, he'd say it was a demon.

He shrank away from it and collided with the consciousness of another person. It was a brilliant, white ball of light, curled up and hard with fear. The demon rolled and writhed, trying to touch the whiteness, only to shrink back whenever it pulsed.

Dean clenched his fist, his power tightening his chest. He couldn't do anything here, of course – this was the demon's domain. He had to find out where they were.

He reached out, his hand glowing softly with his power. "It'll be okay," he whispered. Even after doing this for years he was never quite used to the way a soul looked when it was threaded with pure fear. The soul didn't hear him, of course, because he wasn't really there. Dean supposed this was how guardian familiars felt: never seen, never heard, but reassuring as much as they could until their wizard or witch found the power to see them.

At the sound of his voice, the demon blinked its giant grey eyes, fixing on him very suddenly. The first shots of paranoia flashed through its essence and it opened its mouth wide and roared at Dean. Its teeth were yellow and jagged like a wolf, its tongue forked.

It was looking right at him, and Dean gritted his teeth as he felt the first probing touch of the aether's power at his mind. Sometimes a man could go crazy seeing the kind of things lurking in human shape.

He raised his hand in threat. "Get back!" he yelled. He needed to leave.

The demon howled, reaching for him, its eyes turning a brilliant and glowing red color. Dean swallowed, feeling his heart start to beat faster out of fear. He stepped back, brightening the power in his hand in a threat attempt, but the demon kept howling, writhing in its corner of the room, hissing and glaring at him with the kind of special hatred only truly evil, weak things had.

"Get away!" Dean ordered again.

The demon gathered itself, growling. Fuck.

Dean shot out his power between the thing's eyes, then turned and did his best to shield the white consciousness with his body as the thing lunged for them. Dean's power was not meant for fighting, though he could hold his own against most things. He was a wanderer, a searching wizard, not one meant for battle.

Abruptly, the cage buckled, and Dean was surrounded by bright, hot, orange light. The cage lit up with fire and the demon shrieked.

Dean turned, shielding his eyes when the first thing he saw was the brilliant glow of a fire stone. It was a dragon, its scales a beautiful golden color and ringed with black on the edges. The dragon had a fierce-looking head, spiked with wicked-looking horns at the top of its head, facing forward. It opened his mouth wide enough that Dean would have been able to step into it comfortably, and spat another jet of bright flame at the demon.

The demon shrieked, writhing in pain at the dragon fire burning its soul.

Dean stood, one hand carefully shielding his eyes. "Sammy!" he yelled. "Get me outta here!"

Then, with a yank, Dean was hauled from the aether and back into reality. He had to brace one hand against the desk to stop himself falling over, and his hand forced the map at an angle that made it rip straight through the middle.

Sam was next to him, his throat still glowing with fire, and he wrapped strong arms around Dean's shoulders. "You were yelling," he said, his voice holding no apology. "I had to."

Dean sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. He was slick and gross with sweat, his skin hot in response to being buried in fire. "You saw it, too," he said softly. If Sam had been there in the aether with him, he'd seen it.

Sam nodded, his shaggy head resting on the back of Dean's neck as they both tried to catch their breath. Dean's underarms were sticky with sweat, and it kept prickling up where Sam's hands were resting on his arms and shoulders, but the comforting weight of the familiar and the real was something they both needed after the stark unreality of the aether.

"We don't have a lot of time," Sam murmured.

Dean looked down at the map. The rip had gone straight through, intersecting with a single golden route drawn into the mass of green.

He smiled, and reached for the phone. "It doesn't matter. We found the sick son of a bitch."

* * *

Dean never liked to know the details of the case. Even down the gender of his missing person, he didn't want to know. The more details he knew the harder it was to keep his distance within the aether, the harder it was not to become emotionally invested – emotions were like a blood call to the predators in the aether. They fed off of the feelings and minds of the souls that had wandered their hopeless way in, and Dean couldn't afford to risk his life and his mind like that.

He had to take care of Sam. He had to _save _people.

* * *

They managed to find the missing person. Dean didn't know the details, of course, but Henricksen had called him to say it was a success and that there'd be a fresh deposit in his bank account by the end of the night.

Which was good. The rent was coming out tomorrow.

Henricksen was a good guy – really, once Dean had explained that he wasn't crazy _or _involved in the crimes but had just been overwhelmed with visions in the aether of Henricksen's current missing person and that he knew where to find them, Henricksen had become the closest thing to a human ally in the real world that Dean had ever had.

He didn't know about Sam. No one did. Of course, they knew Sam existed, but those that knew Sam as a person didn't know what he was, and those that knew what Sam was, exactly, thought he was just a familiar and that Dean was a lucky sonuvabitch for it.

Dean was trying to give Sam a normal life. He made sure Sam wore lots of layers so that his fire stone didn't show through when he went to school, and until Sam had started law school Dean had helped him with his homework as best he could (no _way _was he touching law with a ten-foot pole when half of Dean's life barely toed the line of legality and the other half ignored it altogether).

Giving Sam a normal life meant Dean had to take little jobs from humans and the wizarding world alike. Wizards paid better, but humans paid him in ways that humans then needed back if Dean was going to do things like get his brother through college and pay taxes and own a car.

It was exhausting, but Dean was happy. He didn't mind being one of the only wizards his age without a familiar – Sam was the next best thing, and their familial bond meant Dean was powerful because he had his blood inside of a dragon, and together he and Sam were damn near immortal when it came to magic.

Yes, sometimes the ache in his soul that yearned for a familiar was too much, but when that happened Dean found companionship in bars or bottles or in dumb movie nights with his brother. He had a good life.

The phone rang, startling Dean awake from one such night. There was a warm body pressed against his own – a pretty skinwalker named Lisa he'd been friends and sleeping with on and off for a few years. She was wild, bendy, and best of all, kind and understanding. She didn't want what Dean couldn't give her and never asked for anything because she didn't need anything from Dean.

"'lo?" Dean grunted, wiping the sleep from his eye. Behind him, Lisa rolled onto her side, her mane of black hair spread out behind her and one shoulder bared from the sheet. Dean laid back down with another sigh, holding his arm out and tucking it around her when she rolled back over and happily rested against his side.

"Winchester," Henricksen's familiar voice barked at him through the phone. "You busy?"

Dean blinked, frowning at his cheap-ass alarm clock on the side table. It was six in the morning on a friggin' Saturday. "I guess not," he admitted. He needed another case soon anyway, because that last one had paid the rent but Sammy ate like a freakin' machine and Dean needed to get more food soon. "What you got for me?"

Henricksen made a short, impatient sound. "Can you come down to the station?"

Dean blinked again, rubbing his hand over his eyes. "Ugh, fine," he said. "Gimme an hour."

"Alright, Winchester. Hurry up."

The phone went dead with a 'click' and Dean huffed, setting it down. "Hey, Lisa," he said softly, kissing the top of her head and nudging her until she gave a sleepy hum. "I gotta go. There's food in the fridge if you want. Would you mind makin' sure Sam's awake before you leave?"

Lisa sighed, rolling away from Dean and snuggling into his spare pillow. "Alright," she said, the word more of a yawn than anything else. "Be safe."

With another groan of protest, Dean rolled himself out of bed and tried his best not to fall into his shower. It was a close thing. He wasn't hungover, exactly, but the case had exhausted him beyond what it should have – extending his power in the aether was always tiring – and then Lisa was far from a passive lover and he was feeling worn and sleepy and in desperate need of a hot bath or a massage or something.

The hot shower beating down on his shoulders helped, and Dean sighed, scrubbing the last remnants of last night from his body. His fingers ran through his hair, thick with shampoo, and he cleaned his fingers before wiping his eyes of sleep.

Normally in the morning shower he'd taken a little personal time, but he was in a hurry and Lisa had thoroughly wrung him dry last night. He rinsed his hair clean and shoved the shower water to off, wiping a towel cursorily over his body and through his hair before throwing it on the floor.

When he came back into his bedroom Lisa was still there, curled up in her animal form which was a sleek, pretty lab mix. When Dean had first starting fucking her he'd been a little weirded out by the dog thing, especially when she liked to change partway through in the middle of sex to mess with him, but after a few trips to the aether and a few years with a half-dragon brother a man could become somewhat numb to the weirder sides of the wizarding world.

"You shed on the bed, I'm kicking your ass," he called amiably, pulling jeans up around his hips and working a shirt over his head. Lisa barked at him, her black tail wagging. "Yeah, you laugh now. Remember my brother breathes fire."

Lisa barked again but set her head down with a decidedly tired huff of breath, and Dean rolled his eyes, shrugging on a button-down over his shirt and wrapping a belt around his waist through the belt loops. He grabbed his keys, his phone, and rubbed Lisa once behind the ears just because it always made her snap at him, and he grinned before going downstairs.

Normally on a Saturday he'd make a big breakfast for him and Sammy, but he was in a hurry. There wasn't even coffee, so Dean pulled his jacket on and shoved his feet into his shoes before stepping outside and towards the big black beast of a car that was his baby.

Most wizards of Dean and Sam's prowess were rich, and lived the high life on the Ritz or whatever that phrase was. Hell, when he'd told Henricksen that he had just bought a small house on the edge of town instead of one of the fancy apartments with all those amenities, the man had just looked at him strangely. Everyone wanted luxury, he'd said. Everyone wanted to be important and rich.

Dean thought that was a very human way to look at things.

He liked his little house and his giant car that had been paid off before Sam was even born. He liked having to work on her himself instead of going to a mechanic. He liked having to work to pay rent and he liked what he did.

Maybe when Sam started law school for real Dean would cash in on the higher offers out there, but for now he was content.

Besides, the city fucking sucked.

* * *

The police headquarters were just as depressing as they'd always been. Dean had spent a grand total of fourteen nights in various drunk tanks and one weekend for assault charges that ended up getting dropped.

At the time, of course, he had been fifteen and just coming into his powers, and had no idea that the things that he was seeing were real and that _thing _crawling towards him had actually been human-shaped and had meant him no real harm, fangs and fun or not.

Now that thing he'd attacked was one of his best friends, Benny Lafitte, vampire and owner of a quaint Louisiana-style restaurant just down the road from the police station.

He parked the Impala just outside of the police station and the scents of biscuits and jambalaya wafted down towards him from the other side of the grey street. His stomach rumbled loudly and Dean huffed, making a mental note to try and sweet-talk some of Benny's cooking from him for lunch.

The police station was a grey building with a skirt of brick around the bottom, and big, thick pillars of grey stone on either side of the grand, see-through wooden doors. Dean's shoulders were tucked in against the early-morning cold and he shouldered his way into the door.

There was a reception desk and a small security gate barring the way to the main offices. Dean emptied his pockets into the little grey tray and let it get scanned, before walking through the gate and picking his stuff back up.

Henricksen was waiting for him on the other side, a distressed frown on his handsome face. "Winchester," he greeted when Dean approached him. "This way, please."

The station was small in their little corner of the city, barely enough to warrant the search procedure to enter, but they had far too many magical entities living here that there was a constant risk of shit hitting the fan at a moment's notice.

The magical population was petty and powerful: a dangerous combination.

Dean followed Henricksen to his office, ducking in when Henricksen gestured for him to enter. The office was just as drab and depressing as the rest of the place and Dean fought the urge to put splashes of color on the walls with his mind. He'd learned the trick when Sammy was a baby and it had stuck with him for a long time. When he'd first met Henricksen he'd made the man's entire office basically explode and then rearrange itself to prove that he wasn't crazy, and that he was the real deal.

"We have a problem," Henricksen said by way of greeting, and took his seat on the other side of his desk. On his desk there was a single manila envelope and he pushed it towards Dean. "I know you don't like case details," he said when Dean was about to protest. "There's just information there. No names, no faces."

Dean frowned at the officer for a moment, before he carefully slid the envelope towards himself with a single finger, and spun it around and flipped it open. True to his word, there were no names or faces inside, but a single sheet of paper with bullet points detailing the case.

Dean raised an eyebrow, his gaze skeptical as he looked up. "You lost a dragon," he said plainly.

Henricksen didn't seem to share the sentiment. "We recently busted up an underground familiar black market," he said, and Dean sat back, his hands in the pockets of his jacket and fiddling with his keys. He'd heard the news on the ley-line radio over breakfast with Sam before he'd driven him to school – Henricksen had led the case. "We were holding the familiars for a while, trying to match them up with witches until the bigwigs from Springfield came to take them to a temp home."

Dean nodded.

Henricksen sighed, rubbing one hand over his face. "One of them got out," he said, his voice hard and angry. "Melted the bars right out of his transport van and escaped."

"Did you know he was a drake?" Dean asked.

Henricksen shook his head. "He told us he was an owl, you know, we saw no reason to think otherwise. There was no reason for him to lie to us, right?"

"Except," Dean said, stressing the word, "that drakes are possibly some of the most powerful and prized familiars out there. Hell, people have _killed _for these suckers. Anyone in the magical world would have known that."

Henricksen fixed him a look that very plainly said what Dean could do with his magical world knowledge and where he could shove it. "_Regardless_, he's escaped, and we need you to find him. His name is -."

"Stop." Dean held up a hand. "You've already told me gender, which is gonna fuck me up enough. I don't need a name." He looked down at the file again, lips pursing as he looked over the brief bullets of the case. "He disappeared on main, huh? Headed west?"

"From our intel, yeah," Henricksen replied.

Dean nodded to himself. "What color was his fire?"

"What?"

"It's important." Dean waved a hand. "There are different kinds of drakes, and they have different behaviors and patterns to fit. I'll have to do more research but if I have a general idea I'll know where to start looking for him."

"I'll have to ask the officer who was in charge of transport," Henricksen said, looking decidedly unhappy about it. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he asked; "Why can't I give you a name? Aren't familiars bound by it, or something?"

Dean shook his head. "If I gotta go aether-side for this, the less I know about him, the better."

"But it might not even have been his real name," Henricksen protested. "Surely it'd be useful, if you're going to have to start asking questions. He faked his type, he'd probably lied about his name too, right?"

Dean frowned, drawing his lower lip between his teeth and biting down. "I suppose," he said hesitantly. He carefully closed the manila envelope. "What name did he give you?" he asked, phrasing it deliberately in his head to distance himself from whatever the answer was.

Henricksen smiled. "Castiel," he said. "His name is Castiel."

* * *

Benny's jambalaya was fucking heavenly, of course. Dean would be lying if he hadn't thought of taking Benny home just so that he'd have the vampire cooking for him the next morning. It was downright unfair that the burly man had basically no taste buds but still managed to make food that had Dean making noises a pornstar would be proud of over his bowl.

"Good God, Benny, just marry me," Dean said around a mouthful of fresh biscuit, warm and oozing butter. A little escaped down his thumb and Dean caught it with his tongue. "Let's stop flirting like this and get hitched."

Benny's warm laugh came from the other side of the counter. "You'd eat me outta house and home," he replied with a wink. "And if you stuffing your face is flirting, well…"

"I've been told it gives people ideas," Dean said with a cocked eyebrow and a grin, letting his tongue run along his bottom lip for good measure. It was all for fun, of course – Benny was happily mated, not to mention straight, but Dean was kind of a slut for flirting anyway, even with his friends. Everyone except Henricksen because the first time he'd tried the man had pointed a gun at him and told him to shut his fucking mouth.

In Dean's opinion, Henricksen needed to get laid most of all, but that was just him.

With a shrug, Dean returned to his food, scooping the last of it into his mouth with another appreciative hum. "I should go," he said with a sigh, shoving his plate away regretfully when it looked like Andrea was going to scoop some more for him. "Got a big, ah, time-sensitive case."

Benny raised an eyebrow. "Really?" he asked, his voice caught between genuine curiosity and skepticism. Even in the most pressured situations, Dean didn't turn down more free food. "Anythin' we should be worried about?"

Dean hesitated for a moment. He really shouldn't talk about it, and the more he tied his emotions into the case by involving his friends and family, the worse it would be for him if he had to take a few trips aether-side, but -. "Maybe invest in some iron, for the doors," he said. "And bless a sword or two."

Drakes weren't inherently violent, of course, or dangerous in that kind of respect. They didn't simply sweep in and strike to kill, but it never hurt to protect oneself. Dean had a sword in the Impala's trunk for the very purpose, just in case.

Both of Benny's eyebrows shot up at that, but he didn't comment. There were humans in his restaurant, after all.

"It'd be another interesting decoration piece," Andrea said brightly, dispelling the tension as Dean laughed. Thinking about having a giant blessed sword amidst the plastic novelty fish and anchors and netting that was the restaurant's loosely naval theme was a laughable one.

"Be safe, brother," Benny called when Dean turned to leave, and Dean waved at him as he headed out of the door and walked towards his car. His phone rang just as he was getting in, shivering at her winter-chilled leather seats.

"Yeah?" he asked, flipping the phone open.

"Blue fire," Henricksen said. "The fire was blue, and white."

Dean sucks in an involuntary breath, his eyes widening. "Shit," he breathed before he could stop himself.

"That mean somethin' to you?"

"Yeah," Dean said, hurriedly grabbing his keys and twisting them into the ignition until the car rumbled to life and her old heaters started kicking into gear. "Yeah, that means somethin'. Something really bad. You'd better brace for the worst winter of your life, Henricksen. A storm's comin'."

* * *

Dean had only heard of Blue Fire once in his life – it had been the kind of fire that had swallowed up his home and his mother with it when he was a child. He and Sam had survived and their father had been seriously wounded, landing him disability and food stamps. Dean and Sam had almost been taken away several times, saved only by extenuating circumstances that, when Dean was older, he came to realize had been him exerting his will to keep him and Sam together. It was little things – lost paperwork, fudged applications, bureaucratic shit that was the universe extending his desire to stop him and Sam getting taken away.

John Winchester had died of smoke damage to his lungs when Dean was eighteen. Stubborn old bastard had held on long enough for Dean to get his footing and be able to legally take care of his baby brother – and damn if Dean didn't know it, and was grateful for it every single day of his life.

He couldn't imagine his life without Sam.

"Sammy!" he called out when he got home, tossing his keys and phone in a little clay bowl that Sam had managed to make in shop at high school three years ago, which was resting just inside of the door on an old wooden cabinet. It was ugly as sin but Dean loved it. Sam had made it with his own fire.

"In here, Dean!" Sam called back, his mouth sounding full. When Dean got to the kitchen Sam was hunched over a stack of pancakes bigger than his head, and Dean raised an eyebrow, grinning at the sight of Sam's crumb-covered mouth. He was wearing just a thin t-shirt and his fire stone was glowing in happy satisfaction at being fed. "Lisa just left." Sam swallowed, his nose wrinkling. "She made chocolate chip for you."

Ah, bless Lisa Braeden. Dean ruffled Sam's hair as he walked to the microwave and pulled out a much more conservative helping of chocolate chip pancakes. They were fluffy and golden and smelled fantastic, and Dean pushed the plate back in, warming it for thirty seconds.

"They're not as good as yours," Sam commented, forking another giant mouthful of pancakes into his mouth. "But at least she made me blueberry."

The microwave beeped and Dean took the pancakes back out and brought it to their little kitchen table. It was another ugly thing Dean had found at a junk sale on one of his cases, with a bright red top and metal legs curved into the shapes of what were either dogs or dragons. Sam had loved it, of course, and Dean didn't care enough to want to get rid of it or change it.

He snagged the syrup and poured it over the pancakes and began to eat. "So what did you need to go do?" Sam asked after a few bites. His fire stone had begun to glow more dully, his fire heating up his belly to help him digest the inordinate amounts of food he needed to keep himself running.

Dean's eyes were drawn to it, and he swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. "Ah, I'm not supposed to talk about it," he said, hedging. Sam's eyes narrowed and flickered yellow briefly, revealing his real eye – golden, with a slitted pupil like a lizard. Normally Sam could disguise his eyes so that they looked normal and human, even though sometimes he forgot what color they were meant to be and sometimes they changed when he wasn't thinking about it.

"But you're gonna," Sam simply said, taking another bite of pancakes. Dean rolled his eyes at Sam's prissy tone. "You know me askin' is just a formality."

Dean knew. Sam was a drake, which meant he could get into someone's head a lot easier than most. The fact that Sam and Dean were blood-bonded meant it was that much easier. Sam was polite about it most of the time, though, and didn't actively go searching through Dean's head (Dean was trained to resist unwanted intrusions anyway), but he liked to remind Dean of it every now and again like the little shit he was.

He sighed, setting his fork down, appetite abruptly gone. "A drake escaped from an underground familiar trader ring that the cops broke up. He's got Blue Fire."

Sam's eyes widened, flickering yellow again in surprise. "Fuck," he breathed, his fire stone brightening briefly in shock.

Blue Fire drakes were one of the rarest drake types out there. The familiar would have fetched millions on the black market, probably more zeroes attached to his price tag than Dean could shake a stick at. They were powerful, and sly, but they were also horrible, destructive things. Dean had seen Blue Fire once in his life but every now and again there were whispers through the grapevine of them being seen in other places. It never ended well, especially for the wizards and witches that tried to tame them. Dean had never even heard of one being bonded successfully.

He shuddered, taking another bite of pancakes, stabbing his fork through them with a particular viciousness. "This is gonna suck," he said.

Technically, Blue Fire drakes had a name, but Dean couldn't remember what it was. He'd have to hit the library. Ugh. His nose wrinkled in distaste – he hated the old Magic Library. It was creepy and the books tended to bite. Literally.

Sam, of course, knew what he was thinking. "It's a Saturday," he said offhandedly. "And I wanted to go visit Jess at the library soon anyway. You want me to go?"

Dean fought to hide a smile. Jessica was another familiar, a cute little kite that Dean had seen around the library whenever he'd got to visit. She was bonded to the librarian's youngest daughter, who was too young to be a witch yet, and so Jess helped Missouri out around the library while they waited for Rosanna to grow up and get strong like her mama. Dean had met Missouri once and been so unsettled by her psychic energy that he'd never wanted to get on her bad side again, but Jessica was nice enough and Sammy seemed to like her.

"You're savin' my ass," he said warmly, clapping his hand on Sam's shoulder. Sam grinned at him, a purr rumbling in his chest. Then, Dean stood. "Make sure you take your phone. I gotta clean this place up and pay our bills and shit. You want the rest of my food?"

Sam blinked at him, before he pulled Dean's plate over. "Thanks, Dean!" he chirped. Dean grinned, remembering when Sam was younger and not quite so good at disguising himself. He had acted like an overgrown kitten that could breathe fire, and Dean remembered the way his tail would twitch in excitement or happiness.

"I'm gonna be in the basement if anything comes up. Text me when you get somethin'."

He left Sam in the kitchen and headed through their small kitchen area to the door underneath the stairs that led to the basement. Their house was small and cramped, but it meant that there was literally nowhere for an intruder to hide. Dean had this place warded to all Hell against pretty much everything that tried to come in without explicit permission.

Another reason Dean loved this house was the basement.

The house was built across ley-lines, which were hotspots for psychic and ethereal energy. If Dean really wanted to and had a death wish, he could build a permanent entrance to the aether in his basement for beings to come and go as they pleased. Combined with Sam's power, Dean's ability to come and go from the aether was pretty much the same as a natural-born Fey.

The basement itself was a normal-looking basement, he supposed. The walls were grey cement and the floor was slightly angled to allow a drain in the bottom corner in case water came in (or probably for washing any other fluids that might happen to get in the basement, Dean tried not to think about that too much). There were shelves on the high-side he'd put up himself for his and Sam's crap that didn't have any place in the house proper.

In the center of the room Dean had carved a deep furrow in the shape of an oval. It was just large enough that he could comfortably sit in the middle with his legs crossed, and even roll onto his side without crossing the lines. It was long enough that he could also stretch out and the furrow would wrap around his head and the bottom of his feet. If he didn't roll when he laid down, he could stay within the oval with relative ease.

Dean sighed, shaking his hands out, before he stretched his hands over his head and took another deep breath, until he felt the little knots in the small of his back pop and stretch. Then, he bent down and unlaced his boots, kicking them off to their place by the stairs.

He shrugged off his button-down and undid his belt, letting those clothes fall as well, and toed off his socks.

Around his neck, the amulet that Sam had given him was starting to pulse with familiarity. Dean had spent so many hours down here that the energy in the room was tangible, like a taste in his mouth. His soul started to pulse, his power glowing as slightly pink light in his hands as he stepped over the oval edge and fell to his knees in the middle of it.

He shifted until he was sitting cross-legged, and breathed out another steady breath. He waited a few seconds before breathing in again, then out. The amulet was starting to burn, and the pain would center him and yank him back in Sam's absence – it was infused with his fire and would keep Dean's connection to the aether stable without Sam around to ground him or yank him out of the proverbial fire.

He took another deep breath, and held it until his lungs started to burn and his mouth kept twitching, wanting to open and breathe out. Reality started to melt around him, and he opened his eyes and breathed out as the cement walls started to burn, melting away into sludge that was tinged purple and black.

Dean leaned back quickly, positioning his body within the oval so that he was lying down and not at risk of crossing away from the oval. If anything got into his body while he was gone, he would need to make sure it couldn't leave the oval without him.

Heat slammed into the back of his neck and Dean turned from his body, separating himself from the physical world and cementing himself firmly into the aether. Things in the aether were more of a mere suggestion of reality. He was still in a house, of course, but it wasn't his house. Some houses had consciences, had souls just the same as every living thing. Dean's house was one such building, but its soul was old and grand. Dean had taken many walks through the giant mansion that his house had turned into in the aether, infused with Dean and Sam's combined power and feeding off of it to add to its own presence within the aether.

He ran a hand across the familiar wooden walls and gave the house a greeting pat. He didn't say anything, but the house knew he was here and gave a small creak of greeting. The rules of the aether still applied, even in Dean's house – any and all noise brought attention to him in the aether and he was not powerful enough to fight off anything here, especially without Sam to protect him.

He hurried up the steps and into the large, overgrown jungle that was his house's ground floor. The earth had wound itself into the beams and the pillars that made the house, making it look grand and wild. What little parts of the house that was visible gave him flashes of brilliant gold and marble and rich mahogany wood.

Dean loved his house, and his house loved him. As he passed, some brightly-colored flowers tilted towards him, and a large oak tree bowed its great head in greeting to him. He ran his hand over the bark, his power glowing in his hands and sending a spark of energy through the tree.

The leaves rustled in a happy shiver of pleasure and Dean smiled.

He stepped out of the house and out the back door. Dean's real house had once had a garden, but neither Dean nor Sam had any kind of green thumb and they had sold whatever plants could be salvaged to one of the potions ladies in town. The rest had been buried in their soil long ago and now all that grew were weeds and some grass in the small patch of lawn.

In the aether, though, the garden flourished. There was no sense of smell in the aether, nothing rich and warm to tell him that this was real. The sun beat down on him in the aether, the sun still present despite the fact that it was the middle of winter and more likely to be raining or snowing than warm and bright with sunlight.

There was another gigantic tree in the middle of the luscious garden and Dean frowned, pausing at the threshold of the door.

That tree had not been there before. Granted, Dean was used to sudden changes in the aether but they were usually expected and made sense. There was no reason to be a new tree, especially one that did not fit in with the rest of the bright and verdant growth in the rest of the garden. This tree was yellowy and pale – if Dean could describe it, he would have called it sick. It looked sickly.

A low rumble caught his attention and Dean turned his head, his eyes still on the tree, and listened. The garden stretched on almost too far for him to see the edge, and melted into forest beyond. The rumble cut off abruptly with a loud, hacking sound, and abruptly Dean turned his head when a loud crack whipped through the air. It sounded as though someone was trying to pull the house apart with their bare hands, but when he looked it was to see another sick, yellow tree sprouting up at the edge of the forest.

"What the Hell," he whispered, so quietly that he hoped he wouldn't be heard.

The house gave a groan. It sounded worried.

Another sickly tree sprouted up, and then another. Dean took a step back, grabbing the amulet around his neck, ready to flee at a moment's notice. He had never seen this before.

The air in the aether was usually a slightly purple or green haze, but now with each new tree it came with a burst of gross, yellowy brown. He took another step back, swallowing hard when a third tree spouted up on the edge of the garden. From their roots he could see them spreading into the garden, each colorful flower seizing up and turning black as though…

…_Charred_.

"Fuck," Dean growled, and turned back into the house. There were no weapons in the aether, but there was something in or around his house and if it was powerful enough to be touching his house's old, powerful soul, then it _had _to have a physical presence.

He ran back to his body and stopped. Fuck, he was far too charged up to safely melt back into reality like this. If he did it right now he'd release enough energy to set off a mini explosion in the middle of his basement.

"Fuck, fuck," he growled, grabbing the amulet again and worrying it between his fingers. Sam's fire warmed his fingertips, slightly tingly and familiar, and Dean closed his eyes and took another deep, steadying breath.

He stepped over the oval and sat down, before he laid back in a mimic of his body's lax position. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his head.

When he opened his eyes, the walls were grey and cement again, and he breathed out a sigh of relief. Coming back was always more difficult and more risky than going in.

He rolled to his feet and hauled himself out of the basement, power glowing in his hands. Set into the tiny cabinet supporting Sam's ugly clay bowl were several magical weapons and Dean ran to it, kneeling down and hauling out his dad's old pistol, modified and charmed so that it could take down pretty much any b-rated monster.

He also had his staff. He hadn't had to use the thing in years – it was an old, outdated practice to use the staff, and they were usually solely for warfare or aggressive magic, which Dean had never wanted to partake in. Still, something nudged his hands towards it and he yanked it out with a small grunt of effort. It was heavy in his hand, pure metal with a warped head in the shape of a roaring dragon holding a pink, clear gem in its mouth.

As Dean stood, his power lit the staff until the gem in the dragon's mouth started to glow, and the rest of the rod extended from its condensed shape until it grew from the length of Dean's forearm and extended all the way down to the floor in a thick, heavy metal staff.

Dean supposed that even if his magic wasn't strong enough, you could hurt someone with a good hit from this thing anyway.

Gun in one hand, staff in the other, Dean took another deep breath and headed towards the back door again.

The garden was much smaller in reality and surrounded by a small fence. The fence used to be white, but with years of neglect and wind under its belt it was now brown from mud in places, and completely greyed-out in others. Every time Dean saw it he felt a pang of guilt for the house's sake, but the house had never complained about it. Perhaps it felt that the fence fit its aesthetic, looking more weathered and _mystical _that way.

He stepped out, his staff held loosely in his left hand, gun in his right lifted and ready. He couldn't see anything, but visibility was compromised with the fence in the way, and unlike the aether the forest behind Dean's house had crept up that it was, at times, at full risk of overtaking the house completely. There were a lot of places to hide in a forest like this.

"I know you're here," Dean called, forcing his voice to stay light. "Show yourself!"

For a moment there was silence, and Dean narrowed his eyes, fully prepared to call his magic and cast an exposure spell over the area, forcing everything to reveal itself to him, but then he heard the sound of a wet, hacking cough. It was quiet but fierce, as though it was taking all of the thing's energy to simply cough.

Dean frowned, lowering his gun just slightly. "Show yourself!" he said again, his voice amplifying with the power he put into it. It wouldn't compel anything stronger than a normal monster, which Dean was pretty certain the thing wasn't, but it was good to say he'd at least warned the thing.

Dean heard another cough, and then a hand became visible on the edge of the fence. It was strong enough that the grey wood buckled under the grip, collapsing, and the hand disappeared briefly again. The hollow thunk of falling wood just barely covered up the sound of more coughing.

Dean lowered his gun with another frown, tucking it into the back of his jeans. It was freezing outside and his bare feet immediately complained at the cold stone as he stepped over the threshold, but it was a negligible irritation.

"One last time," he said, more gently. The coughing abruptly stopped and Dean heard heavy, labored breathing. "Look, rap twice on the fence if you're gonna die or something, alright?"

There was no knocking, but the hand reappeared. It was tan, masculine, large, and this time at least it didn't try ripping Dean's fence off. Then, another hand came up. Then one arm, hooked over the edge of the fence as the thing attempted to haul itself to its feet.

There were scars around its wrists, fresh and bloody, and Dean frowned and took the final few steps forward as the thing looked like it was going to fall.

"Easy now," he said, reaching out to grab the thing's bare forearm. "Let me -."

As soon as their skin connected, Dean was thrown back into the aether. The air burst into life in a thick pink hue, bright with white lightning as though he was standing in the middle of a storm. Dean gasped, his hand tightening around the thing's arm – not just the thing, the _familiar_, _his familiar, shit_ – and he blinked when the arm he was holding abruptly changed.

When a witch and familiar met, the effect was nuclear. Everything changed, their two souls racing towards each other in an attempt to bond and wrap up together to seal the bond. Dean's body felt like it was wrapped in fire, his very _being _thrown into the midst of the brightest, hottest thing he'd ever felt.

He was surrounded with Blue Fire, and Dean had a brief moment to think that this could not be his fucking life before the familiar changed right in front of him, and he thought, very resignedly, that of course this was his fucking life.


	2. Chapter 2

The dragon was beautiful. Dean didn't get a chance to see its human form before the scales were splitting it apart, and it changed shape with a giant roar of pain. Yellow leaked from its mouth, sickly and pale, and it tossed its head and gave a mighty roar as the yellow dropped to the ground and steamed, burning the flowers in the aether garden and springing up the same sick, yellow trees.

Dean yelled, trying to pull his hand away, but he couldn't let go. His hand felt like it was burning and he couldn't let go.

Its scales were the same bright blue as a cloudless sky, dotted with white and black. Its wings were huge, and there were four of them (which Dean had never seen before), and spread out so large that the pink air became clouded in shadow and it blocked out the aether sun. The wings looked to be made of solid night, like if Dean tried to touch them he would simply pass through, freezing his hand as though he'd stuck it into the vacuum of space.

Its eyes were clouded with sickness, red at the slit and yellow in the rest. It had two large, swirling horns that curled backwards like an antelope, flicking upwards into two black points on its head. It had frills all down its face and a thick ruff under its chin that was a pure white.

It roared again, powerful tail thrashing, and Dean raised his other hand, waving frantically.

"Hey! Calm down!" he yelled, and finally managed to pull his hand away. His flesh was badly burned, almost peeling back to the bone, but the pain was distant to the throbbing he felt within his chest as the bond between him and his familiar started to cement.

The dragon growled again, yellow froth around its mouth, and turned its head to face Dean. Its eyes blinked with a small 'click' sound, clearing to a brief, icy grey color with blue slitted pupils. It took a deep breath and opened its mouth.

Blue Fire.

Dean froze, sure that the dragon was going to try and attack him. Dragons could read minds anyway, and now with the new bond pulsing strong between them, Dean couldn't hide a single thing. Still, he couldn't make himself move. The trust was sudden and foreign and overwhelming, keeping his feet still and the hand holding his staff lax by his side.

The dragon huffed an icy breath, closing its mouth and swallowing its fire back. The blue glow dimmed in its mouth behind its teeth and it abruptly heaved a tired sigh.

Then, it promptly collapsed, and Dean was thrown back into reality hard enough to send him stumbling against the fence, and suddenly passed out.

* * *

Dean woke up warm, which made zero sense because he was still outside, in the middle of fucking winter, in nothing more than a t-shirt and jeans.

He was also, he realized as more of his senses started to flood in and his awareness kicked in, not alone.

His staff was still clutched in his hand and he tightened his hand around in, flexing his fingers experimentally, before he chanced opening his eyes. He was in reality, the sky a drab and boring grey and raining down little, lazy flakes of sleetish rain onto his face and bared arms and feet.

He winced, sitting up, and rubbed his head where it throbbed, where he'd fallen and knocked it against the fence. His eyes landed on his staff, which was waking up as he did and started to glow subtly.

Dean frowned, turning it over until he could see the gem.

It was glowing blue.

There was a weight across his lap and as Dean shifted, so did the weight, sniffling and giving a now-familiar wet coughing sound into its shirt. The shirt was red with blood but otherwise white. Dean rubbed his head again and straightened up so that he was sitting upright against his fence and let his staff go so that he could push the drake to sit up as well.

"Easy there, buddy," he said when the thing groaned in protest, sounding weak and sick. "Sit up for me, okay?"

He saw the weight of the order settle across the familiar's shoulders, the bond pulsing with a familiar light and strength that now felt so inherent and solid inside of Dean that he couldn't imagine that he existed without it. He didn't even know the familiar's name, not for sure, and already it felt as though a void he had never noticed before had been filled.

The drake was warm to the touch, almost feverish, but sat up at Dean's prompting. There was a flush on its – _his_, it was decidedly male – cheeks, and his blue eyes were bright and sharp underneath the messy shock of dark hair.

There was blood across his chest and Dean squinted, looking for the blue glow of his fire stone. He couldn't see one.

"What the fuck happened to you?" he asked, more to himself, not expecting the drake to answer.

Blue eyes blinked at him, glazing over quickly before the drake curled up and coughed into his hands again. It left a yellowish liquid behind, tinged red with blood. "They tried to cut it out," he said, pressing a hand to his chest and wincing. "I – I had to swallow it."

Dean's eyes widened. "Fuck," he whispered, rubbing a hand over his face. "Can you – what should I do?"

The drake shook his head. "I should go," he said.

"Hell no," Dean replied with a frown. His hand tightened on the drake's shoulder and absently he registered that his hand wasn't as blistered and broken as it should have been, burned in the aether as it had been. "You're not going anywhere, buddy, sorry."

The drake lifted his head. His lips were pale from the cold and horribly chapped from the dry air. He had to have been out in the elements for at least two days, and Dean's instincts flooded him, a powerful desire to warm the drake up and feed him until he recovered rearing up its head. His hands pulsed with healing power and he felt it flowing through his palm, into the drake's body. The drake seemed to accept his power easily, his eyes getting bright and focused again even as they sat in the drizzle, in the cold.

Dean licked his lips, breaking gazes from the drake and looking back up at the sky. The weather wasn't going to improve any time soon, and Dean was sure that even if he wasn't feeling it, so close to the warm dragon, then he would be feeling the cold soon enough and his body would protest plenty.

"I need to get you inside," he said, pulling his hand away and shoving himself to his feet. "Come on."

The drake narrowed his eyes at Dean's outstretched hand, before he carefully slid his hand against Dean's and let him pull him upright. Dean felt the tingle of power pass between them and sucked in a breath. Blue Fire drakes were powerful sons of bitches – trust Dean to have one as a fucking familiar. A fugitive one on top of that.

He rubbed a hand over his face. That wouldn't stay a secret for long, Dean was sure. If the thing didn't already know just who and exactly what Dean was, he would soon enough.

The drake's dark blue eyes flicked to Dean's house, then back to the man. "You've warded your house very well," he said gravely. His voice was so low Dean blinked, taken aback by it. He suspected that it might have been because he had to swallow his fire stone – it would have burned him the entire way down and damaged his throat and his stomach after swallowing it. "I…I need your permission, yes?"

Dean nodded. "And you have it," he said, "granted you don't try and kill me or burn the house down."

The drake blinked at him, a little furrow forming between his brows. "Why would I do either of those things?" he asked. "You have a beautiful home. I wouldn't want to ruin that."

Dean managed a smirk at that. "Thanks. I like it too."

The drake coughed again, an action that he tried to stifle at first, before giving up and covering his mouth. Dean's nose wrinkled at the scent of burned flesh and blood that followed. "We gotta fix you up," he said softly. "Swallowing your stone wasn't the brightest idea."

"They were going to take it," the drake said sharply. "I did what I had to, Dean."

Dean blinked, before nodding. Yeah, apparently the mind-meld when they'd bonded had been all too successful. "Your name is Castiel, right?" he asked, because he hadn't gotten another name when they'd bonded together, nothing to suggest that the drake's name was anything else.

Castiel nodded, his eyes narrowed once again. "Are you going to turn me in?"

Dean hesitated. He really should, or at least tell Henricksen to take him off the case, but something in him tugged again, something powerful and almost feral in its passion, that told him to protect his new familiar – the one that he knew nothing about, that was dangerous if not potentially violent, that was a dragon whose species had never been successfully bonded, that was sick and in need of urgent magical medical care.

"No," he finally said with a shake of his head. "No, Cas, I'm not gonna turn you in. You're stuck with me."

Castiel nodded, looking strangely pleased at the idea. "Alright. Then, by all means, lead the way."

* * *

"Here."

Castiel looked up as Dean brought him over some of Lisa's leftover pancakes. A low, rough rumble echoed in his chest, deeper and raspier than Sam's, and Dean had a sudden mental image of a giant blue dragon curled up, purring, with its tail twitching in lazy contentment.

He smiled, setting it down with a bottle of syrup. "Thank you, Dean," Castiel murmured, his hands cupping the warm plate. He made another happy rumble. Dean knew that his fire stone would be glowing in his chest if it was in the right place, and the darkness was eerie and uncomfortable for Dean to look at.

Castiel looked so small at Dean's ugly red kitchen table. Sam and Dean were both large men, and while Castiel wasn't exactly small himself, he sat curled up with his feet resting on the stool rungs and his shoulders hunched in. He'd cleaned his hands upon entering, cleansing himself of the blood he'd coughed up from his wounds.

Dean sat down, holding a cup of coffee in his hands as well, letting the heat tease at his hands before getting absorbed into his body. "We should try and get your stone out," he said when Castiel made no move to eat, and merely stared at the clouds of steam rising from the pancakes as though mesmerized.

Castiel's head snapped up, his eyes slitted and grey. Then, he blinked, at the bright blue human irises returned to his eyes. "…Yes, I suppose so," he said awkwardly, looking down again.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck, frowning down at his coffee. "You…know I'm not going to hurt you, right? Or sell you or anything?" he hazarded, hardly daring to look up. Energy thrummed between them, nervous and new, almost tangible like Dean could reach out and touch it. Around him his house groaned and creaked, making way for the new dragon sitting inside of it. No doubt once he traveled to the aether there would be a new wing grown in response to Castiel's fire.

Castiel bit his lower lip, his dark hands shifting around the edge of his plate. "In theory," he replied, his mouth dry. "But you're already very powerful. You don't need me."

"Hey -." Dean started to protest.

Castiel held up a hand. "I sought you out," Castiel said. "I heard your voice, in the aether. You were fighting and I just – I had this thought. I _had _to get to you, but then you were gone before I could get to you and then -." He lowered his hand, a pained expression coming over his face as he lifted his eyes to meet Dean's again. "I'm weak, as I am. You don't _need _me."

"Well maybe I do," Dean shot back. Castiel's self-deprecation felt prickly and poisonous in his head. Drakes were powerful and proud creatures, and it was wrong to see one brought so low. Dean's hand twitched out in an aborted movement, aching to feel his familiar's fire under his skin again. "I mean – you _felt _it, right?"

Castiel nodded, his eyes on Dean's hand. He let one of his hands fall to the tabletop and pushed the edge of his palm against Dean's fingers. Fire trickled, warm and friendly, through them and Dean felt instantly warm, still fresh from outside.

"I felt it," the drake confessed. Then, he turned his face away and pulled his hand back so that he could cough into it. Dean felt the loss instantly, his soul lunging to his skin and almost through it so that he could reach his dragon. The pulse of his heart was almost powerful enough, the ache in his being strong enough, that he was almost flung into the aether right then.

Castiel's coughing fit left him weak and he pushed the plate of food away with a tired sigh. "I need help," he said miserably.

"Okay," Dean said, standing quickly. "I have a temp portal we can use. Come on."

Castiel stood, his head bowed as Dean wrapped a hand around his waist and guided him towards the basement. The feel of his fire, even through their clothes, was comforting and felt almost heavy like the protection of several heavy blankets on a cold winter night. Dean found himself leaning into it, easily sharing space as he had with Sam, his soul humming happily at the presence of its perfect match.

Castiel looked around the basement, his eyes blinking to his grey drake's eyes when he saw the small oval, before he gave a slight, impressed smile. "You're very clever," he said, before he walked over to the oval and knelt inside of it.

"Lay down," Dean ordered, wringing his hands together to protect them from the sudden cold once he was no longer touching Castiel. The drake obeyed, his body relaxing against the cold concrete with something close to relief. He looked exhausted under the harsh fluorescent lights and suddenly so old.

Dean stepped over the line as well and slid to his knees over Castiel's lap. Castiel looked up at him, his eyes wide and grey, and Dean sighed. The heat of Castiel's skin under his hands was pleasant, and Dean's toes and knees protested the cold floor but the rest of him welcomed the presence of the drake lying underneath him.

Dean leaned forward, his hands braced on either side of Castiel and the drake lifted his arms to wrap them around Dean's waist. Dean had never traveled to the aether by temporary portal with another person, and part of him contemplated drawing a bigger circle for both of them in the future, but for now their soul-bond pulsed with happy, pink light at being able to touch and leap into the aether together.

"You alright?" Dean asked, letting more of his weight rest on the familiar as they both sought to get comfortable. Castiel pulled his legs up and spread them a little, giving Dean the room to rest on his thighs and keep most of his weight off of Castiel's slowly rising and falling chest.

Castiel nodded, his eyes closing as he hummed, licking his lips. "I never thought -."

He didn't finish the sentence, but Dean didn't need him to. He'd never thought finding his familiar would feel this freaking _right _either. He had never doubted his power or his happiness before meeting Castiel, but now there was a dragon-shaped space in his head and his heart and Castiel fit there pretty damn perfectly.

Dean rested his cheek against Castiel's neck and pushed one hand between them against Castiel's chest, where his fire stone was meant to be and would be glowing once it was back to the right place. He could feel the flesh give slightly, hollow and slick as a wound.

He took in a deep, shaky breath, his mind clouding with rage. "If I ever find what did this," he growled.

Castiel's hand stroked up his back and rested on the back of his head. "No need," he replied, his voice flat. "I ripped their throats out with my teeth."

Dean sighed, his palms glowing with power. The light of his magic had changed since meeting Castiel and now was a pale, pretty blue. There were flashes of his original pink, his wandering magic flying to the surface as he sought through Castiel's physical body to find his stone, but now he was firmly entrenched in his familiar's magic and likely, one day soon, it would turn completely blue.

"Guide me in?" Dean asked, his voice suddenly quiet like he'd just entered a church. He was about to see his familiar's true form again, and every part of him was fluttery with anticipation.

Castiel took a few deep, calming breaths. His hand pet through Dean's hair once, curling slightly on the back of his skull and ready to tug them from the aether should they need it.

The transition was smooth, as most things aether-related involving drakes are. Dean felt Castiel's flesh give way and expand to accommodate his true shape of a great beast. Dean closed his eyes, pulling back from the burning scales and the sudden, roaring dragon in front of him.

When he opened his eyes Castiel was fully transformed, his long, swan-like blue neck arching up over Dean and blocking up the aether-sun. They were outside. His house had given way and opened up to allow Castiel room to change for the first time and Dean smiled. It was a giddy joy that swept through him seeing his familiar, his gorgeous dragon, powerful and big and strong.

"Cas," he breathed, licking his lips. Castiel unfolded, his long blue tail curling around Dean in a lazy swirl. There were pretty grey fins along his tail, spots of white and black scales giving him a paint-splattered look. His horns gleamed in the sunlight, his eyes glowing with Blue Fire. When he opened his mouth in another roar, it glowed in his mouth.

Then, the dragon heaved a breath and spat out his fire towards the ground. It sizzled, weak without the stone, and then Castiel turned his head to look at Dean. He blinked, before he leaned down.

Dean reached up without thinking, cupping Castiel's cheeks, a wide grin on his face when Castiel let out a happy purr, his tail twitching and his fins rippling in contentment. The pink and blue strings of their bond flitted with happy yellow and loyal purple and gold. If they weren't in the aether, Dean would likely be laughing through happy tears.

"Let me see," he whispered instead, petting underneath one of Castiel's slitted, glowing eyes. "Let me find it."

Castiel pulled his head away and started to open his mouth. His jaw unhinged like a snake, hanging slack down as he leaned his head back down and let it rest against the ground so that Dean could step inside of it. His fire dulled in his mouth so that he wouldn't hurt Dean, even though it was still unbearably hot.

Dragons were big enough that Dean would be able to walk or crawl through most of his body without much trouble, if he didn't burn alive first. He stepped onto Castiel's tongue and cursed, his feet slipping in his drake's fiery saliva, and his shoulder collided with one of Castiel's sharp canines.

His shoulder started to burn immediately and he flinched back, looking at his burned shoulder with another unhappy curse. Castiel let out a concerned growl, but remained still in favor of making sure Dean didn't slip again.

His tongue retreated and curled around Dean's waist instead, keeping him steady until Dean managed to get to the back of Castiel's throat. Once he was there he lit his palms, illuminating the slick, pink innards of Castiel's gullet. The dragon hinged his jaw back up and Dean immediately started to sweat in the heat.

He could see, right at the base of Castiel's throat, the large gaping hole where the sac holding the fire stone was empty and severed. He hoped Castiel could recover once he replaced it, but made a mental note to look up some helping potions once he managed.

"Dude," he complained, pressing the back of one glowing hand to his nose. "You have an awful diet. You stink."

Castiel let out a rumble that somehow managed to sound like a sarcastic retort, even without words. Across their bond the meaning was relatively clear, and Dean grinned and carefully stepped down the little staircase-like cartilage that made Castiel's neck. His throat, at least, looked healthy where it wasn't damaged from the loss of his firestone and Dean smiled, letting his fingertips run just briefly along his throat, checking the moisture. Dragons had a tendency to get dehydrated or dried out and it was smart to check them every now and again in their beast shape.

He reached the damaged sac and crouched down, frowning at the severed edges that had ripped the sac apart. He could see the ground through a tiny little hole in Castiel's throat. He let out an angry noise, standing again, and carefully stepped over the wound. Castiel rumbled softly again, probably in pain of Dean's feet stepping over the swollen and wounded flesh and Dean reached out again, petting the inside of his throat.

"We'll find it, Cas," he promised. As soon as he had passed the injury Castiel's throat was in much worse shape. There were patches of blackened and charred skin and the stench was almost unbearable. Dean pressed his hands everywhere he could see that was injured, sending his power pulsing through his dragon and watching the flesh knit back together. Dean wasn't a healer but his and Castiel's bond meant that the dragon could take his energy and manipulate it as he wished. Dean was glad that Castiel at least seemed adept at the finer points of healing magic.

Dean took another step and felt the cartilage give way slightly under his foot, giving way to the flap that separated Castiel's esophagus and his trachea. The dragon gave a complaining rumble, his throat trembling in a growl around Dean, and Dean carefully stepped back so that Castiel could breathe again.

"Well, do you have a better idea?" he snapped. "I gotta get to your stomach somehow, idiot."

Castiel growled again. Dean could imagine his tail was snapping in irritation, fins lying flat against his pretty blue scales. Their bond was still too new for them to have mastered real telepathy, but Dean could make out one word from Castiel's head, pulsing at him from across their bond.

_Swallow_.

Dean sighed, shaking his head. "Well, fuckin' do it then," he complained. "It's hot in here."

He got another word, _Heat_, because Castiel's throat was moving. Hot saliva gushed around Dean's feet and he hissed, toes curling as he felt the intense heat of the dragon's saliva, before the flap abruptly gave way and Dean was allowed to pass.

He stepped across the flap carefully, dropping down through a small parting until he reached Castiel's stomach. At least, he hoped it was the stomach because nothing else could smell that bad. He coughed, wincing, his eyes watering as he pushed his forearm against his nose in an attempt to stop his nose dropping off and running away in self-defense.

"Dude," Dean said, raising his free hand to illuminate the area, the blue glow coloring everything a strange green hue. The cavern of Castiel's stomach was warm and dark, a small lake of his stomach acid the color of old runny eggs stretching out about the size of a backyard pool.

The dragon's saliva ran into it, making the smooth surface ripple. Dean clenched his fist and his power abruptly blinked out, leaving him shrouded in darkness.

There it was – Castiel's firestone, about the size of Dean's torso, sitting just on the other side of his stomach acid. It was a bright and piercing white-blue, half-submerged in the acid, and Dean sighed, squaring his shoulders.

This was going to hurt like a bitch. Of course, his physical body couldn't be hurt in the aether, but his soul would be burned, charred until it healed. Death worked differently in the aether. Dean wasn't eager to be overly acquainted with pain or death in the aether, but there was no other way.

"This might be uncomfortable," he called, though the words were mostly for himself, buying time. His weight shifted, restless, and he shook his hands out by his sides. "Try and stay still, alright?"

Castiel rumbled, and the lake surface shivered.

Dean took a deep breath, and stepped into the lake.

* * *

Castiel started to cough, his neck arching as he felt the inexplicable urge to gag and vomit. The dragon arched his head, mouth filling, and spat the contents onto the floor.

Dean grunted, landing rough with the fire stone wrapped in his burning arms. "Fuck," he coughed, rolling onto his side and letting the stone go. The grass around it was starting to blacken and the spit coating Dean's skin was starting to cool and thicken in thick white-yellow streaks across his skin and his burned clothes. Castiel's stomach acid had ruined his clothes and basically stripped his skin away from his hands. Dean's skin was blotchy and peeled back in angry red layers up his arms, and on parts of his neck and jaw the wounds were so bad that Castiel could see the bone.

The dragon rumbled in concern, his large wings fanning the air, and leaned down until his muzzle touched Dean's shoulder. His muzzle was surprisingly soft, the scales as small and malleable as a snake's, and he sent out a strong pulse of his healing power to give Dean's soul the energy it needed to start the healing process.

_Dean_, he murmured, his voice soft, and his tail curled tight around the shape of the wheezing, weak wizard that was still lying on the ground, clutching his fire stone as though it was the most important thing in the world. _Dean_.

Dean couldn't speak, his vocal cords flayed from the inside with smoke and brimstone. Dean closed his eyes, breathing out as deeply as he could. Castiel's magic was warmer than Sam's, his fire much more calm and gentle and focused – Castiel must be much older than Sam to have such firm control and skill with his fire.

The fire stone was bloody and covered in slick mucus and pus, but Dean clung to it tightly, his fingers stiff and sore.

Then, between one breath and the next, life returned to Dean and he sucked in a huge breath, coughing in short spasms that made his body twitch and let go of the fire stone he had been clutching so tightly. He curled up on himself, shielded by Castiel's tail and his great head, small and weak in the dragon's hold on him in the aether.

"Cas," he whispered. He reached up weakly and felt Castiel's soft cheek scales under his hand. "Cas, you okay?"

Castiel's mind-voice pressed into him, welcome and soft. Dean was too weak to even pretend to maintain his mental barriers, and even then his mind and soul welcomed the presence of his familiar, sliding into that place that Dean hadn't even realized was empty until Castiel was there to fill it up.

A feeling of contentment and gratitude filled him, coming from the dragon, and Dean's burnt lips twitched in a weak smile. "Awesome."

Castiel's tail flicked lazily like a happy cat and the dragon curled up a little tighter around him. Now that Castiel wasn't being burned from the inside he seemed much happier to simply lay there with Dean and wait for the wizard to recover enough to put his fire stone back in place. The aether sun was bright, the air pleasantly cool as much as a non-physical place could feel things like cool and warm.

Then, Dean heaved in another breath. His skin was slowly starting to knit back together and he managed to roll onto his hands and knees, then just his knees and sitting on his heels. Castiel's big head was there to provide support until Dean managed to get to his feet.

"Get ready," he said, bending down and picking up the stone again. It was lighter than he'd always imagined it would have been. He'd thought that Sam's, that a dragon's, would be heavy like galena or iron ore, but Castiel's was no heavier than a bowl of popcorn. The surface was hard like diamond but he could sense a softness underneath like molten resin. It was fascinating, but he had no desire to explore it further. Perhaps he would ask Castiel one day, if the dragon knew enough about his physiology to share – dragons were fairly quiet and guarded their secrets proudly, and Sam simply didn't know enough to ask, being half-drake, but it would never hurt Dean to ask Castiel one day.

"Alright," he said, when Castiel lifted his head and arched his neck proudly, like a swan's. His tail and wings were pulled out of the way to expose the red, jagged wound where his fire stone had been hauled out. Dean set the stone down and pressed his hand against the wound. The cut had gone almost all the way through to Castiel's esophagus, but luckily most of the sac had held and there was only the one minor break to have to heal. The two edges sealed together and hardened to the consistency of a hard egg yolk, and then Dean lifted the stone.

Castiel gave a soft rumble, wings fluttering in readiness, and Dean gritted his teeth, his hands burning, before he set the slightly rounded edge against the wound, before gently starting to ease it in.

There was no way to do it easily, without pain. Fire stones weren't meant to be removed or replaced – they were for life. Castiel let out a complaining growl, his mouth opening and his head turned to one side so that he could cough without burning Dean any more. His tail thrashed and his wings snapped out, fins rippling, but he held still as Dean pushed the stone in until the flesh gave way and the widest part went in. The rest of the stone went in with relative ease, dipping down into Castiel's chest and immediately starting to glow as it was reset within the dragon's chest.

Abruptly Castiel's coughing stopped and turned into short, sporadic bursts of fire. Blue Fire fell from Castiel's mouth like spit, liquid and weak and almost white-hot as the dragon tried to work his fire through his burned throat.

The heat was almost unbearable and Dean gritted his teeth, determined to make sure that the job was done right and properly before he forcibly yanked them both out of the aether. Castiel's body writhed in pain, a low roar suddenly bursting from him as Dean shoved his hand against the jagged cut across his chest and he shot a pulse of his power into it, forcing Castiel's skin to slam back together and heal. It was a rush job, hurried and sloppy and would likely leave a scar, but at least Castiel would be able to control his fire again.

The dragon heaved a tired sigh, abruptly going still. Dean was panting, his hand still locked onto a collection of white scales right over Castiel's fire stone, which had cooled from a bright white to a healthier-looking blue. Castiel's breaths were even, if shallow.

He lifted his head, staring at the underside of the dragon's jaw. "You alright?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

Castiel sighed again, his neck bending so that he could fix Dean with one of his giant grey eyes. It was slitted, wide enough that Dean could see the reflection of his face in it.

Then, Castiel closed his eyes and pressed his cheek against Dean's shoulder. This time his sigh sounded distinctively relieved. Dean startled as one of Castiel's wings wrapped around both of them in a tight pseudo-hug.

_Thank you, Dean_, Castiel said softly. _Thank you_.

Dean coughed, smiling widely despite himself, and gave Castiel's scarred white scales a gentle pat. "No problem, Cas," he said. Truthfully it had been a pain in the ass and a half but that's what wizards _did _when their familiars were injured. If he'd left Castiel injured and dying he'd be a royal jackass and probably wouldn't have any friends in the supernatural and wizard community afterwards.

Thinking about the fact that someone had done this to Castiel in the first place sent a shot of anger through him, and he pulled his hand away, fist clenching. Castiel, sensing the change in mood, merely clung to him tighter, a soft purr rumbling in his chest. Dean felt a strange pressure against the top of his head, a thought pressing down against his skull with a soft but insistent psychic energy.

It felt…reassuring?

Dean didn't fight it, welcoming Castiel into his head, and the dragon gave another soft rumble, the tip of his tail flicking upwards in a little curl.

They stayed like that for another moment as Dean's skin started to cool, only pinking in the places where Castiel's warm scales were touching him. Then, the aether changed and grew suddenly so cold that he shivered, breath misting.

Castiel lifted his head, his pupils expanding outwards like a cat's until they took up most of his grey eyes. His tail curled around Dean protectively, his wings raised in threat.

The aether sun was no longer glowing, and when Dean looked down, the grass was swaying wildly underneath his feet. There was no wind in the aether, and no such real thing as heat and chill, but Dean was suddenly freezing, which made even less sense because he was still wrapped tightly against Castiel's skin.

Suddenly a deep, rumbling roar vibrated in Castiel's chest, his fire stone glowing and igniting his fire. It lanced up in a thick glowing stream, up his neck and into his mouth, and then Castiel was breathing fire, his neck arched to allow the fire to pool in his mouth, increasing the potency and the thickness of the jet of flame.

Something else answered Castiel's roar, hissing loudly. Dean's soul shuddered at the sound, the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck rising.

_Dean!_ Castiel snarled, his white teeth gleaming and coated in Blue Fire. It glowed in his mouth brightly and lit his eyes from behind. _Run! Get out of the aether!_

Dean cursed, curling up against one of Castiel's forelegs as the dragon's powerful tail swept around them and out towards the sickly-yellow trees that had started to grow when Castiel was still sick. The tail cut through thick blackness – darker than night, darker than something real. The darkness shrieked and roiled, flinching from Castiel's tail as though it had been actually struck.

Dean knew that darkness.

"Fuck," he whispered. "The demon."

He cursed the fact that he hadn't brought his staff closer to him, and was frozen, caught between two warring instincts. Dean was not a fighter and his magic would do little but distract the thing from Castiel for a moment before it was on him, but if he fled then he ran the risk of leaving Castiel undefended in the aether, and weakened as the dragon was there was no guarantee that his soul or his body would be safe.

Power glowed in his hands, helpless and green as a sapling. Castiel roared again, spitting more of his fire as the demon fixed glowing red eyes onto the dragon and shrieked again. The darkness expanded like a giant bat, wings flaring out to match Castiel's threat display.

Demons couldn't speak as far as Dean knew, but they didn't need to. Dean winced, covering his ears at the sound of the demon's high-pitched keen, the psychic pressure on his head almost enough to send him to his knees. He threw all his strength at his mental barriers, because any single weakness would be enough for something from the aether to sneak into his body and corrupt him from the inside.

He crouched under Castiel, shielded by the dragon's legs, and gritted his teeth. Sam's amulet swung down into his line of vision, and it was almost glowing orange with the amount of heat it was putting off. Dean wondered how he hadn't felt it before now.

He let go with one hand and clasped the amulet tightly, finding his brother's blood-line within his own soul. "Sammy!" he yelled, pushing as much urgency and desperation as he could into the call. "Sammy! Pull us out!"

The feeling of Sam's fire leapt into his hand, warming him from the inside, and then he heard another roar. It was younger, louder, booming with all of Sam's young strength and eager fire. Dean looked up, one hand still over one ear as he watched as a golden dragon hurled itself to the ground next to them. Castiel breathed another jet of fire at the demon, but it was colder, more blue than white, his fire stone glowing more dully.

Sam's was bright, incensed by rage and health, and he opened his jaws wide and sent a bright jet of orange fire at the demon. It hissed and recoiled, rolling about as though caught on a giant wheel, its big red eyes shrinking and blinking in and out as it tried to fight both dragons at once.

"Get us out!" Dean yelled, reaching out to touch Castiel so that when Sam yanked him out, Castiel would come too. "Sam, come on!"

* * *

Dean was thrown into reality with a force so jarring he couldn't breathe. Of course, that could have also been because when Castiel returned with him, the dragon's immediate reaction was to throw him out of the circle by the grip on his hair and his strong thighs so that Dean was left sprawling on his back across the cold concrete of the basement.

Castiel turned over, coughing in the Dean's direction. Dean watched the blue glow of his fire stone start up in his chest and heaved a sigh of relief. His throat would be sore for a while and he probably shouldn't try breathing fire (a little late for that, but still) for the time being, but he'd be okay.

Dean laid his head back down, breathing in deeply, and only barely twitched when he heard Sam's heavy footsteps tromping down the stairs.

"Dean!" he yelled, dropping to his knees by Dean and hauling him upright, shaking until Dean grunted and shoved at Sam's shoulder to get him to stop. "Dean, are you okay? What the Hell happened?"

"Sam, Cas," Dean grunted, "Cas, Sam. Familiar, brother." He gestured between them. "Make friends."

Castiel's eyes were heavy on Sam's face. "Your brother is a dragon," he said plainly, his words directed to Dean even though his human blue eyes were on Sam.

Sam's eyes were still golden-yellow, slitted like a drake's in the face of his emotions. He looked Castiel up and down, taking in his fire stone, the dirt and tears and tatters on his body. "Are you…a blue?" he asked, and Dean had to smirk because Sam's voice had the same 'Of course this is Dean's life' tone that Dean himself had thought the first time he'd met Castiel.

Castiel nodded solemnly, licking his lips. "Dean has assured me that he won't turn me in," he said, somewhat defensively.

Sam gave him another once-over, before he nodded. Castiel blinked, looking almost surprised. "What was that thing?" Sam murmured, deeming the conversation over, and sat back on his heels so that Dean had room to push himself upright.

"A demon," Castiel said flatly. "It attacked us."

"I knew that thing," Dean said, his voice a little rough from being winded and shouting and having so much smoke in his lungs. "It was – the last case -." He shook his head, rubbing his nose with the palm of his hand.

"That explains this," Sam said, and reached into the pocket of his thick, oversized hoodie and handed Dean his cell phone. "There's like twenty missed calls from someone called 'Vic the Dick'."

Dean allowed himself a small laugh, before he took the phone with a frown. Henricksen never called him so often unless it was super serious – Dean actually couldn't remember being called so much ever in such a short amount of time.

"Fuck," Dean huffed, rubbing his face again. "I gotta call him back. Could be serious."

"You have a _demon _in your backyard," Castiel said, "and you have to call a phallic friend?"

"Don't even play that," Dean shot back, already pressing the 'call back' button next to Victor's name and holding the phone to his ear. "I know you know exactly who Henricksen is."

Granted, their psychic bond was still new, but Dean could feel it strengthening by the minute. Even as Castiel blinked at him, he felt a little bit of playful amusement when the drake replied; "I prefer 'phallic friend'."

Henricksen answered, cutting off Dean's reply, and Dean held up a hand for silence. "Winchester," Henricksen said. He sounded like he'd been running laps waiting for Dean to call back. "Where the Hell have you been?"

"In the aether," Dean said without missing a beat. Henricksen always got a little weird when he mentioned it, but Dean didn't mind anymore unless he wanted to deliberately mess with the guy. He understood – dude was a realist, he didn't like the thought of there being anything other than the natural order available, that he couldn't see something for himself.

He turned at the sound of a low rumble. Castiel had crawled from the circle and joined Sam sitting on the floor. Drakes could communicate mentally at will, Dean knew that, but until this point in his life he'd never seen Sam talking to another drake. It was weird to watch, seeing them reacting and gesturing without actually using words, but Dean got the distinct impression that Castiel felt like an old cat when suddenly confronted with a puppy.

"Why you callin' me, Henricksen?" Dean asked, drawing his attention away. "I got shit goin' on."

"We have a problem," Henricksen replied flatly. "The abductor from your last case escaped."

"Yeah," Dean said, wincing as he carefully pushed himself to his feet. His palm was sore from gripping the amulet so tightly and he was sure he'd ache soul-deep for a long while after the aether trial, but there was no rest for the wicked, or something like that. "I figured."

"You figured? How?" Henricksen's voice was suddenly sharp.

"I saw it in the aether," Dean said. "Tried to attack me."

"Shit." Henricksen was quiet for a moment, until Dean heard him heave a big sigh. "Look, Dean, I know you don't like to know details and everything, but you're gonna need to know what this guy looks like. Everyone will need to know, if he's after you. Wait – how could he even recognize -?"

"I go as myself in the aether," Dean said, "and each aether passer leaves a distinctive mark and I wasn't exactly subtle."

"I don't need to know," Henricksen interrupted, and Dean could just imagine him shaking his head. Poor guy, he was still so new to all this, he'd probably never get used to it.

Next to him, Castiel gave a deep, rumbling laugh.

Dean sighed. "Alright. Text me details, I guess. Just…" He shifted his weight, uncomfortable. "I don't want a picture. Just physical shit, okay? I don't wanna see this guy's eyes."

The drake rumbling stopped and Dean could feel Castiel and Sam's curious eyes on him. Castiel's concern pulsed through their bond so strongly that Dean almost couldn't speak. Henricksen agreed to send him everything they had and Dean hung up quickly, just barely resisting the urge to throw the offending phone across the room.

"Everythin' okay?" Sam asked, as Castiel pushed himself fluidly to his feet and stepped over to Dean. Dean hadn't even realized he'd held out his arm until Castiel wrapped his warm hands around Dean's forearm and rested his cheek on Dean's shoulder, comfortable and familiar.

"What do we need to do?" Castiel asked softly, his voice rumbling.

Dean sighed. "I'm gonna need somethin' to ground me," he said. "We gotta go back in the aether, get this son of a bitch."

Castiel's grip tightened and Sam was standing suddenly, both of them close to him. "Dean, _no_," he argued. "We have no idea what kind of thing this is – I've never seen it before!"

"I have," Castiel said softly. "They're hard to kill. It's much easier to banish them."

Dean raised an eyebrow in Sam's direction, grinning when fire glowed in Sam's flared nostrils as he breathed out heavily.

Castiel was rubbing his forehead against Dean's shoulder, gentle and slow, his hands warm against Dean's skin which was covered in goose bumps. "It's very dangerous," he said quietly. "Neither of us are in a condition to fight for any length of time, and the banishing spell is very trying."

"And your magic isn't aggressive, Dean," Sam added. "It could change you, trying to resist that thing."

Dean's phone buzzed in his hand, again and again. "Henricksen's sending me details," he said. His mouth twitched, pulling down. He _really _didn't want to know anything about this scary, sick bastard. "Pretty soon I should be able to recognize him even in the real world. That should -." He swallowed, his chest heaving as he sighed. "That should be safer, right?"

Castiel lifted his head, his eyes narrowed. "Perhaps," he said, slowly, before turning to Sam. The dragons blinked at each other, a conversation passing between them in a heartbeat. Dean tried not to feel the jealousy at that, at what came so naturally to drakes and he was still so fresh to his own familiar that they couldn't achieve the same, even in the aether. "There are human things to do against things such as that. I will teach you." He turned back to Dean. "Sam should go back to the library and research, and we should visit a church."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "A church?" he repeated, unable to hide the mocking tone.

Castiel nodded at him, completely serious. "Demons," he said plainly, blinking once. "The church is and always has been the leading knowledge on all things sinful and dark."

The thought of going to a church made Dean's skin feel all tight, but he had to admit it was a decent idea. "Alright," he conceded with a sigh, before lifting his eyes to Sam's, which had turned back to a green-blue splotchy mix. "You gonna be okay on your own?"

Sam smirked. "I'll be alright." His eyes dropped to where Castiel was still holding Dean very tightly. "You watch yourself. Don't go into the aether without me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Dean said with a somewhat tight smile. He didn't outright promise, because they both knew it was a promise he would not be able to keep. Sam's smile was small, understanding. "Be safe, Sammy."

"And you."

He turned and went up the stairs, taking them three at a time, leaving Dean and Castiel alone. Dean's phone kept vibrating in his hand and, with a sigh, Dean lifted it up so that he could see and unlocked it, scanning over the details as Henricksen sent them.

Blond, blue eyes, male, five foot ten, fifty-plus. Dean frowned. How the Hell had a fifty-year-old managed to kidnap and keep so many young people so easily? Maybe there was more weight to this demon thing than Dean had wanted to give it credit before, but he was starting to see the reality that this thing – whatever it was – wasn't just inhuman, but it must be strong, powerful, dangerous.

He turned to look at Castiel. The drake was regarding him coolly, waiting for an order.

Dean smiled, pocketing his phone. "Let's go."

He had dangerous, inhuman help too. Castiel's eyes gleamed and when he smiled, his teeth were pointed.

"Alright."

* * *

Castiel sat close to him in the Impala seat, his fire so warm that Dean didn't even need to torture his girl and have her working extra hard to warm up the interior.

There were more churches in the city than Dean could shake a stick at, but only three of them were Catholic. The largest, the Church of the Ascension, sat on the crest of a small hill overlooking the southern side of town and had unofficially been what the city had been built around. Dean had never been before, but even he had to admit that it was a beautiful, imposing structure.

The walls were a dark grey and they arched up in two square towers, the main building stretching out in a thick oblong shape and coming to a sever end with another two towers. It looked almost like a castle from medieval shows that Dean had seen, and he couldn't help but think that it would make a good place to fight all kinds of evil.

The air inside was cool. There was a giant circular window on the far end, lit even in the winter-grey sunlight and casting down the design of Mary high up in the clouds onto the floor. Next to her stood Jesus, one on his cross, and Jesus also surrounded by clouds and angels. The angels looked fierce and strong, their trumpets and wings a burning gold like Sam's scales, and the blue around them that signified the sky was almost light enough that Dean could have believed Castiel had forged it with his own fire.

There were dark wooden pews stretching all the way to the plain, white marble altar. The carpet was a bloody red and the stone grey walls held alcoves with more beautiful art as well as statues and sets of candles partially lit for offerings and prayers.

There wasn't a single soul inside as Dean and Castiel stepped through the first set of heavy iron doors and peered through the see-through wooden-framed ones that lay just a few feet inside. Castiel pushed the door open and Dean, after a moment's reluctance, followed in. The air was heavy, thick with the scents of incense and oil and _wisdom_. Dean felt the same way entering a library, like the silence was sacred, as though he had just stepped into the lair of a great slumbering beast.

He was unprepared for just how it would make him feel, his sensitivities hitting him and lighting up the base of his skull. He stopped a few paces in and had to simply breathe, his knees shaking with a sudden weight as though someone had just thrown an anvil onto his shoulders and told him to carry it.

"Dean." Castiel's voice was soothing, soft, his hands warm on Dean's shoulders when he turned to his wizard and gently touched him, somehow supporting that great weight simply by his presence. Dean gasped, blinking rapidly to try and clear the thick smoke in front of his eyes. "Dean, it's alright. Here." Castiel reached out and took one of Dean's hands and placed it against the glow of his fire stone in his chest. The heat shot through him, strong and energetic like a new electric wire, and Dean swallowed, his knees locking, straightening up. "Focus. Shield yourself."

The drake's voice was almost deafening in the silence though he couldn't have been speaking louder than a whisper. His voice wrapped around Dean, their bond a cool and calm blue, and Dean sucked from it greedily, drawing his drake's power into his body to strengthen his mind and his body against the weight of millennia of belief and reality and _faith_.

"…Can I help you two gentlemen?"

Castiel stepped to one side but didn't let Dean's hand fall from his chest, revealing a priest to Dean's gaze. He was an older man with dark skin that gleaming in the candlelight like the polished wooden pews and a kind, if overly-polite and wary smile. His eyes were a sharp and wary blue – Dean was sure he knew what they looked like. Castiel hadn't had a chance to shower or change, so he was still in his dirty and bloody clothes, and Dean was exhausted and hardly dressed for the weather and was standing there looking like he was about to pass out.

"Yes," Castiel said. "We need any knowledge you can give us about demons."

The priest blinked, folding his hands into the large, loose pockets of his white robe. "Demons," he repeated, his voice high in surprise. "What in the world could you want to learn about them?"

"How to get rid of them," Dean rasped out, internally rolling his eyes at the fact that this sounded like every exorcism movie he'd ever seen. "One of them is chasing me and I need to kill it, or banish it, whatever."

A shadow passed over the priest's face for a moment. "A demon," he said, in a too-kind voice. "My son, I know a lot of things can look or feel like personal demons, hounding us, but with counselling or -."

"Father," Castiel interrupted, sensing Dean's growing frustration start to peak, "I do not think you understand."

He pulled Dean's hand away from his chest, holding tightly still with his hand, so that he could face the priest better and present themselves as a united front. "Dean and I are aether-folk, and we have seen one. I believe that it is here to hurt my master, and we need your help to stop it."

The priest's dark brown eyes slipped down to their joined hands, before he seemed to suddenly notice the fire stone glowing in Castiel's chest. His eyes widened in understanding, in revelation. "You've seen a demon in Purgatory," he breathed, and before Dean or Castiel could answer he turned and began to stride away, gesturing for them to follow. "Please, gentlemen, come with me. I may have something that can help you."

* * *

"Now, please, explain this to me so that I might in good conscience and in full knowledge go to confession. Do you plan to kill the host?"

"No," Castiel said, shaking his head. "We do not believe that the demon has a host yet. Perhaps it did at one time but now, in the aether, it is without a body."

The priest, who had introduced himself as Father Joshua by way of a little golden sign next to his office door, nodded solemnly. "It is good that no other souls might be hurt while you fight it," he said, before he turned his attention back to the large, worn book he had taken from a shelf behind his desk and laid it out for both Castiel and Dean to see. They both leaned forward, Dean bracing his free hand on the desk next to the book, his other hand holding Castiel's still very tightly. He was sure he wouldn't let go until they were out of the church.

There was an image on the paper like looked like an old pencil drawing of a man with two faces, one of them normal and one of them horribly disfigured with hellfire eyes and sharp, jutting teeth. "A demon is a manifestation of a corrupt soul," Father Joshua said, allowing Dean and Castiel to gaze over the drawing and the words next to it at their leisure. "Only those with a very strong will and goodness will be able to kill one."

"We don't need to kill it," Dean said gruffly, "just send it away."

Father Joshua paused for a moment, and Castiel lifted his head at the silence. It seemed as though a silent conversation passed between them within a split second, before Castiel's hand gently squeezed Dean's.

_He does not believe we will be able to banish it._

The thought came gently, in Castiel's voice although it held Dean's own doubts as well. Dean licked his lips, feeling warm at how easily his mind let in his drake's thoughts and presence. Sending one back was more difficult and Dean was sure he pushed too hard, but their bond pulsed with life and Castiel cracked a small smile afterwards;

_I thought these guys were meant to be about faith._

_I have faith in you, _Castiel replied after a moment, his eyes once again on the book. _Faith enough for him._

"So how does it work?" Dean finally asked, straightening up. "What will we need?"

Father Joshua shifted his weight, his hands once again finding each other in the large sleeves of his robe. "Most of our weapons against sin and evil require it to have taken on a physical presence," he said, his tone almost sad. "If you are going to fight the demon in Purgatory, as you will have to if it does not have a body, then all of your weapons will be purely psychic. I can give you the exorcism, but again that is only to send it back to another plain which – forgive me, I'm lacking in education about the aetherfolk - but it may send the demon straight back to you." He shrugged one helpless shoulder. "I am afraid I cannot give you answers beyond prayers."

Of course. Dean rubbed his hand over his eyes and heaved a sigh. "Well, we'll take the exorcism, just in case," he said. He was in no position to deny anything right now, even if it was purely on the power of love or whatever the Hell religion was meant to be nowadays. A weapon was a weapon and he had seen enough fey around to know that sometimes a strong belief was all you really needed in a fight.

Hopefully Sam had better luck in the library.

* * *

When they left the church, the weight slid of Dean's shoulders so suddenly that he felt as though he had abruptly grown another foot taller in a single step. Castiel didn't let go of his hand, but stopped holding so tightly, his thumb soothing along the back of Dean's knuckles in a single swipe as Dean sucked in a deep, free breath for the first time in what felt like hours.

When he exhaled, it was heavy. "Fuck."

Castiel hummed. "I second that."

"I need somethin' to eat," Dean said. Trips to the aether always wore him out, and now he'd gone twice in one day, and fought, and on top of that he was simply exhausted from reading and memorizing the prayers that Father Joshua had given them. His brain felt like it had been sucker punched. "You hungry?"

"I could eat," Castiel replied noncommittally. It was weird for Dean to see a drake that didn't eat as much as Sam – in the entire morning Castiel hadn't even hinted at being hungry, even sick and injured. Perhaps he didn't want to be a burden, or maybe older drakes simply didn't eat as much, but either way Dean himself was hungry enough for both of them.

"I got someone I need you to meet anyway," he said, squeezing Castiel's hand. "C'mon, let's get back to the car."

* * *

"Benny, my man! Two bowls of your finest!"

Dean led Castiel over to the diner counter, where Benny and Andrea were there in all their glory. The restaurant was almost empty and for that Dean was glad. He didn't have the mental strength right now to sort out any psychic energies and try and determine threats in the room and keep his guard up.

Castiel, it seemed, was perfectly content to do that for him. His presence was steady and solid at Dean's side, his hand warm in his, and his mental barriers were strong and large enough to wrap around both of them so that Dean could relax.

It also meant that they were more in tune with each other now, their mental bond sliding more thickly into place as Dean allowed himself to mentally relax into Castiel, ease in and make himself comfortable. So he felt the sudden, hot anger and protectiveness almost immediately as Castiel took a seat next to Dean, and then suddenly his eyes flashed a brilliant white and he let out a small snarl, his hand tightening.

"Cas," Dean hissed, trying to pull his hand away. Rage swept across the mental bond, but it was the kind of rage that came from of a bad memory, impotent and old. "What the fuck?"

"Vampire," Castiel muttered, blinking at Benny and Andrea who had yet to surface from the kitchen. There was a hole cut into the wall for Dean to see into and they could see Dean and Castiel, but neither Benny nor Andrea seemed to have noticed that Dean had a drake with him or that said drake was apparently racist towards vampires.

Then, Castiel blinked, his aura abruptly cooling as though doused in ice. It was a little disorientating. "The man who tried to cut out my stone was a vampire," he said softly. "Forgive me, the memory is still very fresh."

"I get it," Dean said, and he did. If he ever met the dragon that had burned his mother he'd slit the thing's throat, no questions asked. "But Benny's cool."

Benny chose that moment to come into the main dining area, two steaming bowls of chili in his hand. He paused for a moment at the door, raising one questioning eyebrow at Dean's guest, before he came over and set a bowl in front of each of them.

"You seem surprised," Dean said, picking up a spoon. "I asked for two."

"Knowin' you, I thought they were both for yourself," Benny replied with a grin. "You gonna introduce us?"

Dean smiled, his fingers squeezing Castiel's tightly. It felt right to hold Castiel's hand, his soul so happy at having its familiar and the other half so close all the time that now that he had held Castiel's hand he couldn't imagine _not _doing it anymore. Castiel gave a soft rumble.

"Right. Cas, this is Benny – food wizard extraordinaire. Benny, this is Castiel – Cas is my – Cas is mine."

He stumbled over the title. It felt so foreign and strange on his tongue to say that Castiel was a familiar – because he wasn't just that. He had never been just that and he still wasn't. Yes, he made Dean's magic stronger and technically served him and would for the rest of their lives, but there was already something different, something that Dean had never imagined having a familiar would feel like.

Calling Castiel _his_ seemed much more fitting, like that little word could hold all of that and more.

Castiel's smile was wide and adoring when Dean looked up, even if the drake was sparing Dean the embarrassment of eye contact and instead grinning down at his chili. His fingers squeezed back and Dean grinned as well.

Then, Benny cleared his throat. "You've been busy, brother," he said, and Dean nodded.

"It was sudden," he said, taking another bite of chili. "Turns out he's the blue I was meant to be huntin' down. Dramatic irony, right?"

"Happy coincidence," Castiel argued gently. Somehow his bowl was already empty and Dean had no idea how he'd managed to eat so fast, but he couldn't help feel smugly satisfied knowing that Castiel had been a fucking liar saying he wasn't hungry.

"Yeah, that," he said, pointing. "Can we get another bowl?"

* * *

"You know, you don't have to hide anything from me."

Castiel turned to him, his eyes big and blue.

"I just mean, if you're hungry, or tired, or in pain, I can fix that for you. I gotta – you know, I gotta make sure you're getting everything you need, you know?"

Castiel smiled, and leaned over to rest his forehead on Dean's shoulder, briefly, before he straightened. "I don't doubt your caretaking abilities, Dean. My conversations with Sam have already revealed a lot about you, and I know you're a good man and I'm lucky to be bonded with you." Dean blushed, averting his eyes so that his focus was back on the road. The roads were slick with ice and he was driving slowly, making sure the corners were clear. He and Castiel and Sam might be housebound for a while – luckily Sam's fire burned hot enough that he could comfortably walk in even the deepest snow. Blue drakes were built differently and still wounded Dean didn't want to be risking Castiel's health, though, so for now they were driving.

"I simply didn't realize how hungry I was," Castiel continued lightly. Dean snorted – Castiel had managed to put away six bowls of chili all by himself to Dean's one and a half. He was going to need a mountain of gold to pay for feeding both Castiel and Sammy. "Pain, too, is something I'm relatively used to. I'm not sure how painkillers would react with my fire, anyway."

Dean frowned. "You make a habit of getting hurt?" he asked, a little harshly.

"I have Blue Fire," Castiel replied, unapologetic. "And I was not bonded. I met a lot of unkind people."

That same impotent, old anger swept through Dean, and he knew only half of it was Castiel's. "Well, that's gonna fuckin' change," he growled, his fingers tightening on the wheel until the material gave a complaining creak. "I'll take care of you, Cas."

Castiel smiled, and his voice was warm. "I know, Dean."

Between them on the bench seat, Dean's phone started to vibrate. Dean cursed. "Can you get that?" he asked. "I don't wanna get distracted. This next hill's a bitch when it's icy."

Castiel nodded, peering at the name flashing on the screen. "It's your phallic friend again," he said, before he answered. "Yeah?"

Dean blinked, startled when the voice coming out of Castiel's mouth was a perfect mimic of his own. Fuck, he hadn't known drakes could mimic like that. Castiel hummed, his pale lips pressed tight together as he frowned forward, his eyebrows creasing.

"Right."

"Yeah, I got it."

"Thanks, Vic. I'll be in touch."

He hung up, his eyes dark. "They found the host that they thought the demon had been possessing," he said, setting the phone down. "His throat was slashed and he's been legally dead for at least a month."

Dean shook his head. That case was old, but not that old. "Fuck," he hissed, his hands tightening. "That means he'll be looking for another body. The human cops will have no fucking clue."

"We need to strike quickly," Castiel said. "It's possible that the demon will put off trying to find a new body while it's trying to come after you."

Dean nodded, licking his lips. "Call Sam," he ordered, and waited until Castiel picked up the phone again before adding, "Tell him to be careful. Don't go into the aether. We're all gonna do this together and, fuck, I guess we just gotta hope we can do this."

"Sam and I will be able to hold the demon back while you work the spell," Castiel said, sounding self-assured as he held the phone to his ear to wait out the ringing.

Dean swallowed, trying not to voice his doubts. Castiel was weak, starving, and admitted freely that he was in a lot of pain. Dean was reluctant to throw him back into such a dangerous and unpredictable fight with only his paltry wandering magic and Sam's erratic, powerful fire as backup.

"Dean," Castiel murmured, reaching across to settle a hand across Dean's thigh. Dean's head snapped over to meet his gaze. "It'll be alright."

Dean didn't get a chance to answer before Sam had picked up and Castiel had to relay Dean's orders. Fuck, he'd known he shouldn't have gotten details about the man, the demon. He was already getting too invested, throwing not only Sam but Castiel into the aether as well when they were so underprepared. His worry hung like a thick shroud across his eyes and he couldn't stop himself from picturing the man. He'd never even seen his face, but fuck, he'd had one – he'd been a _person_, possessed by a horrible thing and made to commit awful crimes. No one would remember him as a man – was he married? Did he have children who thought their daddy was a sick, sick son of a bitch?

Dean's chest felt all tight when he crested the small hill that led to his house, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that Sam was already making his way across the ice down the driveway. He pulled up to a stop right as Sam hit the front door.

"You sure about this, Dean?" Sam asked, waiting for Dean and Castiel to meet him at the front door before letting them all inside. Dean was the only one shivering and Castiel immediately pushed himself up to Dean's side, warming him up.

"We got no other option," Dean replied, heaving a deep breath. "We ready?"

"You should take your staff," Sam said as they walked inside.

"Right."

Dean's fingers flexed and he pulled his staff from behind the door where he'd set it after first finding Castiel. The gem in the dragon's mouth glowed a brilliant blue and flared when near to Castiel, which happened almost immediately since Castiel had followed him inside.

"This is possibly the dumbest thing I've ever done," Dean mused, staring at the roll of his power inside of the gem. "And I've done a lot of stupid shit."

"I haven't," Castiel replied gravely. "It's good that I'm with someone who knows what he's doing."

It was said in such a deadpan tone that it startled a laugh out of Dean. "Well, fuck, alright," he said, grinning at his familiar. Castiel smiled back at him, serene and strong as he had always been (and it was so weird, to think they'd barely known each other a day and already Dean was using words like 'always' as though Castiel had been there forever). "Sammy in the basement?"

"Yes." Castiel reached out, a hand on Dean's chest when Dean started to move around him. "Dean, wait -." He hesitated, a small frown of frustration passing across his face before he pulled Dean closer to him by his shirt, until he could rest his forehead against Dean's collarbone. It was instinct and easy to wrap an arm around Castiel's shoulders and hold him tightly.

"I'm sorry," Castiel said after a moment. "I didn't – I thought that I would die before I ever met you, and of course the first day we meet you have a powerful and dangerous entity after you." They hadn't even known each other long enough for Castiel to be exasperated with Dean, and yet there it was in his voice, and Dean hid a smile against his messy mop of hair. "I just want you to know that – that I like you. I'm glad I bonded to you."

Dean's arm tightened and he pressed his cheek against the side of Castiel's head in a brief, tight hug. "Same here," Dean replied, his voice hoarser than he'd thought it would be. "But don't talk like we're not gonna get out of this, alright? We're gonna kick ass."

Castiel's shoulders shook in a soft laugh. "Yes, of course we are," the drake murmured, but made no move to pull away.

Dean didn't force him. It was nice to feel Castiel's heat, and standing so close their bond thrummed with energy and life, a happy and glowing yellow and blue mixing together to form lively green in places. Dean had been a fool to think he'd ever be truly complete and happy without his familiar.

"You ready for this?" Dean asked, his voice quiet and reverent.

Castiel nodded, his fingers kneading briefly at Dean's shirt before he let go with a sigh. "Yes. Let's go…'kick ass'."

Dean laughed. "That's the spirit, Cas."


	3. Chapter 3

Dean had always wanted to draw a bigger circle in his basement and now he was given the perfect opportunity. There was no way he was going to risk Castiel, Sam or himself in a possible possession, especially when the demon was already looking for a body. Drakes were pretty impossible to possess, being born of the aether, but he wasn't going to be taking any chances.

"Can you feel it?" Sam asked as Dean was drawing the circle, going over and over the lines with chalk until they were almost an inch thick.

Dean hadn't wanted to think about it, but he did feel it. There was a heaviness in the basement, a darkness prowling in the shadowy corners that Dean knew wasn't usually here. His house was thrumming, sick at the cancer crawling along its walls. Dean rested a palm against the floor and closed his eyes, feeling the evil coiled into the walls.

"It's waiting for us," Castiel murmured, already sitting inside of the circle with his legs crossed. His bare feet were leaving little flakes of dirt against the floor and Dean vowed to himself that after this was over he'd go and buy Castiel a shitton of clean clothes and let him have as long a hot shower as he wanted, water bill be damned.

"We're ready," Dean said, gesturing for Sam to step into the circle with them. Dean lay down, shivering when the cold cement bled chill through his back. Sam lay down next to him, one hand wrapped loosely around Dean's wrist to keep their connection. Castiel took Dean's other side, but rested his head on Dean's shoulder, one arm thrown across his chest, and hooked a leg around one of Dean's.

If Sam was curious about the intimate position, he didn't say anything about it, even though Dean was blushing. Maybe familiars understood the deep-seated need to be as close to their wizards or witches as possible. Maybe Sam felt that longing too, desperate to seek out his wizard or witch, and would be the same when he was finally bonded.

Or maybe Sam wouldn't be bonded at all, since he was only half familiar at best. Dean frowned, his heart getting tight at the thought of Sam being stuck in limbo like that for his entire life, seeking out a bond that might not technically exist.

Castiel nuzzled him gently, rubbing his stubbly cheek against Dean's shoulder. "Relax," he murmured. "You're too heavy to guide in right now."

Dean cleared his throat. "Sorry," he replied. "Lot on my mind."

Castiel hummed, and Sam rolled onto his side so that he and Dean were lying slightly closer together, his big hand warm on Dean's wrist. His eyes were closed, his face relaxed. Drakes probably felt far more at home in the aether than in reality – Dean honestly wondered, sometimes, why they chose to stay in reality at all.

Castiel's arm tightened around Dean's chest, throwing his attention back into the present, into the immediate sensation of the two dragons warming the room up on either side of him. He was starting to sweat already, and Castiel's fire stone was a spot of heat against his arm.

"Sorry," he said again, and took a deep breath, his eyes falling closed. Well-fed and warm, the sleepy feeling was easy to achieve, letting it sweep through him and weight behind his eyes. The hairs on his arms started to rise, getting closer to the darkness lurking in the aether.

He sucked in a hard breath and Castiel and Sam's hands tightened on him and then suddenly he was in the aether. He knew it was there – it was there, and his breathing was getting tight like he was breathing in smoke.

He opened his eyes and surged upright. Sam and Castiel were still lying down in the circle, and when he looked down at himself he saw his eyes blank, staring upright at the ceiling, open.

Something was wrong.

He never went with his eyes open into the aether. His body was subject to damage while he was gone and even something as simple and not being able to blink and moisturize his eyes could fuck his sight up if he left it long enough.

"Shit," he whispered.

Then, the aether went dark. Completely dark – Dean couldn't even see his hands in front of his face, or his bodies, or Sam or Castiel. They hadn't come through with him – his soul had leapt into the aether without either his familiar or his brother with him. Even his staff, which lay just inside of the circle within easy risk should he need it, wasn't visible. The blue glow of his power gem was invisible.

"Fuck," he growled, shoving himself to his feet. The house around him didn't groan in greeting as it usually did, and he couldn't see a damn thing. Fuck, fuck. He was starting to panic, his throat tight, his heart hammering. Without Sam or Castiel, without seeing them or sensing them, there would be no way he could get back to reality. He couldn't even feel Sam's fire through the amulet around his neck.

Something growled in the darkness, and then two big red eyes opened. They burned a dark maroon, lit with fire, and stared straight at Dean. Below them a giant mouth opened, teeth yellow and sharp and wide, widening, the demon opening its mouth until Dean could have easily stepped between its teeth and into its mouth.

He raised his hands, but even the power in his hands was invisible, overwhelmed by the demon's black presence. "Get back!" he commanded, and it seemed as though his voice echoed and echoed into a deep void.

The demon laughed, and Dean heard his own voice say; _Get back! Sammy! Pull me out!_ His voice came back distorted, like it had been rewound backwards and jumbled up and layered together until the words were hardly understandable.

Dean swallowed, taking a step back. Running would be foolish, especially when he wasn't even sure what part of the aether he had been thrown into, and he couldn't see a damn thing. He knew he wasn't in his house, though – the surroundings were unfamiliar and evil in a way he couldn't quite describe. If evil had a flavor in the air then he would be breathing it in, tasting it, thick and acrid and smelling vaguely like rotten eggs.

"Well," he said, trying to stall. "It looks like you got me."

The demon shrieked, lightning crackling along its black body. Dean flinched away from the darkness, still human enough in his instincts to forget that he couldn't technically be electrocuted in the aether.

He could definitely lose his body, though, or have it die if he didn't get back in time enough to save his eyes or his lungs. Sam and Castiel would be in the aether by now – they'd find him.

He brightened his glow as much as possible, gritting his teeth when he felt the demon start to probe at his consciousness. The demon would find no weakness, but it also meant that Dean couldn't open his mind to Sam or Castiel should they try to contact him. All he could do was hope that either of the dragons heard his general distress signal and decided it was important enough to investigate.

_I will break you_, the demon hissed, and Dean blinked. It was the first time he'd heard the thing speak, and honestly he hadn't thought things like that in the aether had a voice.

Then, suddenly, the pressure on his mental walls sharpened like someone was driving a nail into his skull. Dean cried out, one hand slammed against the side of his head like the physical barrier would be enough to protect him, and fell to one of his knees from the force of the onslaught. Fuck, _fuck_, he'd never felt pain like that before. It was so intense, his brain instinctively tried to scramble for any kind of weapon in response, any kind of defense.

He had no weapons, and his mind was strong against attack but he had never tried to perfect his own mental attacked.

"E-exorcamus te," he stuttered, gritting his teeth as he tried to remember the spell. If nothing else it could buy him time, "omnis immundis spiritus -." No, wait, _fuck_.

The demon shrieked in anger, and more points of pain drove themselves into Dean's skull, and he forgot the rest of it, if he'd even had the first part right at all. Dean yelled, curling up on himself in pain. Fuck, this was it. This was how he died – his mind speared and his body decaying until one of them gave out. Idly, he thought that he'd rather say his body died before his mind collapsed under the pressure, but he wasn't sure it would fall out that way.

_I will break you,_ the demon said again. _Blue Fire Wizard_.

If Dean were at full mental capacity, he'd probably have made a joke or some witty comeback, but right now it was effort enough not to have his brain melting out of his ears.

The mental pressure was building, the spikes sinking through his skull and into his eyes and through him, and Dean couldn't hold it in anymore – he screamed. He screamed loud enough that if he was in reality they'd hear him all the way in the city. He slammed his other hand against his head, giving up even attempting to use his power to fight back, and he screamed.

It took him a moment to realize that there was another sound other than his screams and the demon's hissing. It was a roar – a loud, powerful, _angry_ sound that ripped into Dean as suddenly as a bullet. The demon shrieked and then suddenly there was _light_, white-hot and burning straight through the darkness. Dean's brain was flooded with strength, lit from within with fire, and he felt his power flow back into him and into his hands.

_Dean!_

The lightning in the demon's essence turned into Blue Fire, and the demon howled in pain as it was burned from within and suddenly shrank back, and Dean could _see_. He was on a cliff, his heels touching the edge and at risk of falling into the rocks below, waves crashing against the cliff as though trying to beat it with giant, watery fists.

Castiel was behind him, fire glowing in his mouth, his blue scales brilliant in the aether sunlight. He flew behind Dean, protecting him from falling into the water. His muzzle was wrinkled in a fierce snarl, and fire glowed within his fins until it looked like they themselves were lit up and burning against his scales.

"Cas," Dean breathed, weak with relief. His dragon was terrifying and powerful in his beauty, and even as Dean spoke Castiel shot another thick jet of flame at the demon, causing it to hiss and roll within itself.

The darkness spread out backwards, trying to flee, but then Sam landed behind it, catching it within his orange flames. Sam's fire joined Castiel's inside of Dean and burning the demon, and the sudden rush of strength and power made Dean almost want to laugh, giddy with joy and _power_.

He stumbled to his feet as Castiel flapped his giant wings in one powerful stroke before landing lightly on the cliff, his strong tail wrapping around Dean to keep him steady and let the physical connection strengthen their bond and the power flowing between them. Castiel's power lit Dean's palms with blue and pink magic and Dean took in a deep breath, closing his eyes, and found his mind clear and bright with Castiel shielding him and keeping him strong.

The spell flew from his lips easily, and the demon, caught between the two dragons' fire, could do nothing but howl and hiss and spasm as Dean spoke the incantation that would, theoretically, banish it back to the Hellfire it had crawled out of.

The demon disappeared with a snap, which Dean thought was kind of anticlimactic, but Castiel and Sam stopped breathing fire and Cas pulled them both away from the cliff edge. Then, Dean had an armful of Castiel's face, the dragon giving a soft, agitated rumble. Relief and worry washed through their bond all at once, infused with fierce pride at both Dean's strength and their joined victory.

Sam gave a happy, triumphant roar, arching his head back and breathing a thick column of fire into the sky, his wings flapping in excitement. Dean grinned at him, momentarily so elated and relieved that he forgot his exhaustion and his worry, content to just watch his brother enjoy what they had done, and the freedom that came with the aether.

Then, he rested a hand against Castiel's shoulder. "I need to get back to my body," he said. "I came in wrong."

Castiel nodded, and closed his eyes, his soft nose pressed against Dean's cheek, and then with a deep, sudden breath Dean returned to reality. He coughed, curling up on his side, his eyes watering heavily to the point that when he closed his burning his eyes, the tears leaked out and he was simply a spasming, exhausted mess.

Castiel was there, cradling him much more gently than the last time they'd returned from the aether. He wrapped both arms tight around Dean's body and held him until his breathing calmed, before he let out a soothing hum and placed a kiss against Dean's forehead.

"Sleep," he coaxed, one hand petting through Dean's hair. "I have you, Dean. Sleep."

* * *

Henricksen was getting a headache. Or maybe it was an aneurism. Something.

"So, you got the guy?"

Dean's voice came through the other end; "Yeah. He was a demon, in the aether. We killed him. The body you found was just a meat suit – innocent, I guess. Anyway, the real shit's over with too."

Goddamn witchcraft. "There's something else, Dean -."

"What?" Dean replied, exasperated.

"There's been reports of a Blue Fire sighting, close to you, apparently," Henricksen said, carefully. "Granted, I won't make it my problem if you don't want me to, but you told me that blue fire meant bad, so -."

"Yeah, no, I got it. It's, ah – it won't be a problem."

Henricksen narrowed his eyes. "You _sure _it won't be a problem?" he asked.

"Yeah, uh -." Dean coughed, and there was some kind of commotion in the background. Henricksen heard a brief 'Cas, what the fuck are you -?' before the call abruptly hung up. Henricksen frowned down at his phone, before he set it down with a big sigh, and rubbed his hands together over it, wiping his hands clean of the situation.

Goddamn witchcraft.

* * *

"Cas, what the fuck are you doing?"

Castiel lowered the phone, sheepishly handing it back to Dean. "Your phallic friend called," he said in answer to Dean's raised eyebrow. It was kind of hard not to simply smile at Dean. Dean had fallen asleep for almost twenty hours after the trip to the aether, and now he was sleep-mussed and fluffy from his bed, where Castiel had moved him after about hour three, once Sam had returned from the aether as well. Dean had changed into a soft-looking black t-shirt and sweatpants, his cheeks stained pink from sleeping, and there was a line across one cheek where a pillow fold had been.

"And you decided to tell him that I had you sorted out and you weren't a problem anymore?"

Castiel cocked his head to one side. "Am I a problem?" he asked, too innocently.

Dean grinned, the corner of his mouth twitching up, and pulled Castiel into a tight, one-armed hug. "Nah, sweetheart. You're not a problem." Then, he let go, slipping his phone to rest on the little table on the inside of the door. "Now come on, you hungry?"

Castiel grinned. "_Starving_."


End file.
